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laOVBLL’S LIBRAH7. 

' • I 


COMPLETE CATALOGUE BY AUTHORS. 

Loveli.’S Library now contains the complete writings of most of the best standard 
authors, such as Dickens, Thackeray, Eliot, Carlyle, Ruskin, Scott, Lytton, Black, etc., 
etc. 

Each number is issued in neat 12mo form, and the type will be found larger, and the 
paper better, than in any other cheap series published. 

JOHN W. L.OVEL.L. COMPANY, 

P. O. Box 191)2. 14: and 16 Vesey St., New Yorfe. 


BY G. M. ADAM AND A. E. 


WETHEBALD 

846 An Algonquin Maiden 26 

BY MAX ADELEE 

295 Random Shots 20 

825 Elbow Room 20 

BY GUSTAVE AIMAED 

500 The Adventurers 10 

667 The Trail-Hunter 10 

578 Pearl of the Andes 10 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies 10 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter 10 

1082 The Tiger S’ayer 10 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas 10 

1052 Border Rifles 10 

1068 The Freebooters 10 

1069 The White Scalper 10 

BY MES. ALDEEDICS 

346 An Interesting Case 20 

BY MES. ALEXANBEE 

62 The Wooing O’t, 2 Parts, each .15 

99 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

209 The Executor 20 

849 Valerie's Fate 10 

664 At Bay 10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

777 A Second Life 20 

799 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

840 By Woman’s Wit 20 

995 Which Shall it Be ? 20 

BY F. ANSTEY 

SO Vice V ersci ; or, A Lesson to Fathers. . 20 

394 T 1 1 e Gian t’s Robe 20 

450 Blattk Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

016 The Tinted Venus 15 

755 A Fallen Idol 20 

BY T. S. AETHUE 

496 Woman’s Trials .' 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

518 Married Life 15 

588 The Ways of Providence 1.5 

545 Home Scenes 15 

554 Stories for Parents 15 

568 Seed-Time and Harvest 15 

568 AVovds for the Wise. 15 

674 Stories for Young Housekeepers 15 

579 Lessons in Life 15 

682 Off-Hand Sketcties 15 

686 Tried and Tempted 15 


BY HANS CHEISTIAN ANDEESEN 


419 Fairy Tales 20 

BY EDWIN ARNOLD 

486 The Light of Asia 20 

455 Pe" rls of the Faith 15 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

BY W. E. AYTOUN 


351 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers 20 


BY ADAM BADEAU 

7 56 Conspiracy 25 

BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER 

206 Cast up by the Sea 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon 20 

283 Eight Y'ears’ Wandering in Ceylon. .20 

BY C. W. BALESTIEE 

881 A Fair Device 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

BY E. M. BALLANTYNE 

215 The Red Eric 20 

226 The Fire Brigade 20 

289 Erling the Bold 20 

241 Deep Down 20 

BY S. BARING-GOULD 

878 Little Tu’penny 10 

BY GEORGE MIDDLETON BAYNE 

460 Galaski 20 

BY AUGUST BEBEL 

712 Woman SO 

BY MES. E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

748 Our Roman Palace 20 

BY A. BENRIMO 

470 Vic 15 

BY E. BERGER 

901 Charles Ai’.chester 20 

BY W. BERGSOE 

77 Pillone 15 

BY E. BEETHET 

866 The Sergeant’s Legacy 20 

BY BJORNSTJERNE BJOENSON 

3 The Happy Boy 10 

4 Arno 10 


1 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY 


BY WALTER BESANT 


18 Thoy Were Married 10 

308 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

257 All in a Garden Fair 20 

2(58 When the Ship Gom^ Home 10 

884 Dorothy Forster 20 

600 Self or Beamr 10 

842 The World Went Very Well Then . .20 

847 The Holy Rose 10 

1002 To Call Her Mine 20 

BY WILLIAM BLACK 

40 An Adventure in Thule, etc 10 

48 A Princess of Thule 20 

82 A Daughter of Heth 20 

85 Shandon Bells 2(.l 

98 Macleod of Dare 20 

136 Yolande 20 

142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . .20 

146 White Wings 20 

153 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Madcap Violet 20 

180 Kilineny 20 

182 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers 20 

216 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart. 10 

217 The Four MacNicols 10 

218 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P 10 

225 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

282 Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

584 Wise Women of Inverness 10 

678 White Heather 20 

958 Sabina Zembra 20 

BY MISS M. E. BEADDON 

88 The Golden Calf 2C 

1U4 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

214 Phantom Fortune 20 

266 Under the Red Flag 10 

444 An Ishmaelite 20 

555 Aurora Floyd 20 

588 To the Bitter End 20 

506 Dead Sea Fruit 2G 

698 The Mistletoe Bougk 20 

766 Vixen 20 

783 The Octoroon 20 

814 Mohawks 20 

868 One Thing Needful 20 

86 » Barbara; or. Splendid Misery 20 

870 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

871 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

872 Taken at the Flood 20 

873 Asphodel 20 

877 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

878 Only a Clod 20 

879 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

880 Lady’s Mile i.20 

881 Birds of Prey 20 

882 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

833 Rupert Godwin 20 

886 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

887 A Strange World .... 20 

888 AJ^ount Royal 20 

889 Just As I Am 20 

890 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

892 Hostages to Fortune 20 

893 Fenton’s Quest 20 

894 The Cloven Foot 20 


BY FEA^ BAEEETT. 

1009 The Great Hesper 24 

BY E. D. BLACKMOEE 

851 Lorna Doone, Part 1 29 

851 I orna Doone, Part II 20 

936 Maid of Ski^r 20 

955 Gradock Nowell, Part 1 20 

955 Cradoc'k Nowell, Part II 20 

961 Springhaven 20 

1034 Mary Anerley 20 

1035 Alice Lorraine 20 

1036 Cristowell 20; 

1037 Clara Vaughan 20 

10138 Cripps the Carrier 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomas 

Upraore .20 

1040 Erema ; or. My Father’s Sin 20 

BY LILLIE D, BLAKE 

105 Woman’s Place To-day 20 

597 Fettered for Life 25 

BY AKNIE BEADSHAW 

716 A Crimson Stain 20 

BY CHAELOTTE BEEMEE 

443 Life of Fred rika Bremer 20 

BY CHAELOTTE BEONTE 

74 Jane Eyre 20 

897 Shirley 20 

BY EHOBA BEOUGHTON 

23 Second Thoughts 20 

230 Belinda 20 

781 Betty’s Visions 15 

841 Dr. Cupid 20 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart 20 

1023 Red as a Rose is She 20 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower 20 

1025 Not Wisely but too Well 20 

1026 Nancy 20 

1027 Joan 20 


BY ELIZABETH BAEEETT 
BEOWNING 

421 Aurora Leigh ^ 

479 Poems 35 

BY EOBEET BEOWNING 

552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BEYAHT 

443 Poems 20 

BY EOBEET BUCHANAN 

318 The New Abelard 20 

696 The Master of the Mine 10 

BY JOHN BUNYAN 

200 The Pilgrim’s Progress 20 

BY EOBEET BUENS 

430 Poems 20 

BY EEV. JAS. S. BUSH 

113 More Words about the Bible 20 

BY E. LASSETEE BYNNEE 

100 Niniport, 2 Parts, each 15 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each 15 


2 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY 


BY THOMAS CAMPBELL 

626 Poems 20 


BY ROSA NOUCHETE CAREY 


660 For Lilias 20 

911 Not Like other Girls 20 

912 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

959 Wee Wifie 20 

960 Wooed and Married 20 

BY WM. CARLETOIT 

J90 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh's Wedding 10 

821 Larry McFarland’s Wake 10 

822 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Mass 10 

824 Phil Parcel 10 

1.25 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to Maynooth 10 

827 Phelim O’Toole’s Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar 10 

829 Neal Malone 10 

BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

4S6 History of French Revolution, 2 

Parts, each 25 

494 Past and Present 20 

5 j 0 The Diamond Necklace ; and Mira- 

beau 15 

603 Chartism 20 

6 .'8 Sartor Resartus 20 

614 Early Kings of Norway 20 

620 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

622 Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays. . . lO 

625 Life of Heyne 15 

628 Voltaire and Novalis 15 

641 Heroes, and Hero-Worship 20 

646 Signs of the Times 15 

650 German Literature 15 

661 Portraits of John Knox 15 

671 Count Cagliostro, etc 15 

678 Frederick the Great, Vol. I 20 

680 “ “ “ Vol. II 20 

691 « “ “ Vol. HI 20 

610 “ “ “ Vol. IV 20 

619 “ “ “ Vol. V 20 

622 “ “ “ Vol.* VI 20 

m “ “ “ Vol. VII 20 

628 “ “ “ Vol. VIII 20 

630 Life of John Sterling 20 

633 Latter-Day Pamphlets. 20 

636 Life of Schiller 20 

613 Oliver Cromwell, Vol. 1 25 

646 “ “ Vol. II 25 

649 “ “ Vol. Ill 25 

652 Characteristics and other Essays. . . 15 

656 Corn Law Rhy mes and other Essays . 1 5 

658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

661 Dr. Francia and other Essays 15 

BY LEWIS CARROLL 

480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-Glass 20 

BY “ CAVENDISH” 

422 Cavendish Card Essays 15 

BY CERVANTES 

417 Don Quixote 80 

BY L. W. CHAMPNEY 

119 Bourbon Lilies 20 


BY VICTOR CHERBTTLIEZ 


242 Samuel Brohl & Co 20 

BY BERTHA M. CLAY 

183 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

277 Dora Thorne. 20 

287 Beyond Pardon 20 

420 A ilroken Wedding-Ring.... 20 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 

458 Sunshine and Roses 20 

465 The Earl's Atonement 20 

474 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

476 Love Works Wonders 20 

558 Fair but False 10 

593 Between Two Sins 10 

651 At War with Herself 15 

669 HUda 10 

669 Her Martyrdom 20 

692 Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

694 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

695 Wedded and Pai’ted 10 

700 In Cupid’s Net 10 

701 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

718 A Gilded Sin 10 

720 Between Two Loves 20 

727 For Another’s Sin 20 

730 Romance of a Young Girl 20 

733 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

738 A Golden Dawn 10 

739 Like no Other Love 10 

740 A Bitter Atonement 20 

744 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

752 Set in Diamonds 20 

7(54 A Fair Mystery' 20 

8U0 Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

801 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

803 Love’s Warfare 10 

804 Madolin’s Lover 20 

806 From Out the Gloom 20 

807 Which Loved Him Best 10 

808 A True Magdalen 20 

809 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

810 Prince Charlie’s Daughter 10 

811 A Golden Heart 10 

812 Wife in Name Only 20 

815 A Woman’s Eri'or . 20 

896 Marjorie 20 

922 A Wilful Maid 20 

923 Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce 20 

926 Claribel’s Love Story 20 

928 Thrown on the World 20 

929 Under a Shadow 20 

930 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

932 Hilary’s Folly 20 

933 A Haunted Life 20 

934 A Woman’s Love Story 20 

9()9 A Woman’s AVar 20 

984 ’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

985 Lady Diana’s Pride 20 

986 Belle of Lynn 20 

988 Marjorie's Fate 20 

989 Sweet Cymbelino 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love 20 

1012 The Squire's Darliiig 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell 20 

BY REV. JAS. FREEMAN CLARK 

107 Anti-Slavery Days 20 

BY S. T. COLERIDGE 

523 Poems 30 


3 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


BY WILKIE COLLINS 


8 The Moonstone, Part 1 10 

9 The Moonstone, Part II 10 

24 The New Magdalen . . .. 20 

87 Heart and Science 20 

418 “I Say No” 20 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 15 

683 The Ghost’s Touch 10 

686 My Lad 3 "’s Money 10 

'722 The Evil Genius 20 

830 The Guilty lUver 10 

957 The Dead Secret 20 

9!>6 The Queen of Hearts 20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 10 


BY R. CRISWELL 

850 Grandfather Lickthingle 29 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY FLORA A. DARLING 

2G0 Mrs. Darling’s War Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DARRELL 

315 Winifred Power 20 


BY HDGH CONWAY 


429 Called Back 15 

402 Dark Days 15 

612 C -ir riston’s Gift 10 

617 Paul Vargas: a Mystery ....10 

631 A Family Affair 20 

6G7 Story of a Sculptor 10 

672 Slings and Arrows 10 

715 A Cardinal Sin 20 

745 Living or Dead 20 

750 Somebody’s Story 10 

9G8 Bound by a Spell 20 

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

53 The Spy 20 

SG5 The Pathfinder 20 

378 Homeward Bound 20 

441 Home as Found 20 

463 The Deerslayer 30 

4G7 The Prairie 20 

471 The Pioneer 25 

484 The Two Admirals 20 

488 The Water- Witch 20 

491 The Red Rover 20 

501 The Pilot 20 

50G Wing and Wing 20 

512 Wyandotte 20 

517 Heidenmauer 20 

519 The Headsman 20 

524 The Bravo 20 

527 Lionel Lincoln 20 

529 Wept of Wish-ton-Wish 20 

532 Afloat and Ashore 25 

539 Miles Wallinsford 20 

543 The Monikins 20 

548 Mercedes of Castile 20 

553 The Sea Lions 20 

559 T n e C rater 20 

502 Oak Openings 20 

570 Satanstoe 20 

57G The Chain-Bearer 20 

687 Ways of the Hour 20 

601 Precaution 20 

603 Redskins 25 

611 Jack Tier 20 

BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 25 

BY THE COUNTESS 

1028 A Passion Flower 20 

1041 The World Between Them 20 


BY GEORGIANA M. CRAIK 

1,006 A Daughter of the People 20 


BY ALPHONSE DAUDET 

478 Tartarin of Tarascon 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Good-for-Nothing 20 

645 Tne Nabob 25 

BY REV. C. H. DAVIES, D.D. 

453 Mystic London 20 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S 

431 Life of Spenser lO 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing 20 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 20 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

20 The Spanish Nun 10 

BY CHARLES DICKENS 

10 Oliver Twist 20 

38 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child’s History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Papers, 2 Parts, each 20 

140 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each., .15 

150 Barnaby Radge, 2 Parts, each 15 

158 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each 20 

170 Hard Times 20 

192 Great Expectations 20 

2U1 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . ..20 

210 American Notes 20 

219 Dombey and Son. 2 Parts, each 20 

223 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each 20 

228 Our Mutual Friend. 2 Parts, each... 20 

231 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each 20 

234 Pictures from Italy 10 

237 The Boy at Mugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

261 Muster Humphrey’s Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfog Papers, etc 10 

273 Sketche.s by Boz .20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

288 Somebody’s Luggage, etc. 10 

293 The Battle of Life, eto 10 

297 Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

.298 Reprinted Pieces 23 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices,. ...18 


4 


LOVELL’S 


BV GAEL DETLEF 

27 Irene; or. The Lonely Manor 20 

BY PROF. DOWDEN 

404 Life of Southey 10 

BY JOHR DRYDEN 

408 Poeuis 30 

lY DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 Condemned Door i...20 

BY the “DUCHESS” 

58 Portia 20 

76 Molly Bawn 20 

78 Phylhs 20 

86 Monica 10 

90 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian , 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

132 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

162 Faith and Unfaith 20 

168 Beauty’s Daughters 20 

234 Kossrnoyne 20 

451 Doris 20 

477 A Wei-k in Killarney 10 

530 In Durance Vile 10 

618 Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, O Tender 

Dolores” 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

624 A Passive Grime 10 

721 Lady Branksmere 20 

735 A Mental Struggle 20 

737 The Haunted Chamber 10 

792 Her Week’s Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valvvorth's Diamonds 20 

BY LORD D’JFFERIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part 1 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II 20 

775 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Pait I. . . .20 

884 I'he Son of Monte Cristo, Part II.. .20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Parti. ..20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part II.. .20 

998 Beau Tancr de 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMA3, JR. 

992 Camille 10 

BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDS 

681 A Girton Girl 20 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

56 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Marner 10 

79 Ilomola, 2 Parts, each 15 

149 Janet’s Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

174 Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

205 The Spanish Gypsy.and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, each. 15 

208 Brother Jacob, etc 10 

874 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book 20 


LIBRARY. 

BY M. BETHAM-EDWAEDS 


203 Disarmed 15 

663 The Flower of Doom 10 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

373 Essays 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

348 Bunyan, by J. A. Fronde 10 

407 Burke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Professor Nichol 10 

413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Goldwin Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J. C. Morrison 10 

225 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

369 Hume, by Professor Huxley 10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 

380 Locke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

392 Milton, by Mark Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leslie Stephen 10 

364 Scott, by R. H. Hutton 10 

361 Shelley, by J. Symonds 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden 10 

431 Spenser, by the Dean of St. Paul’s. , 10 

344 Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. . .10 
410 Wordsworth, by F. Myers 10 

BY B. L. FARJEON 

243 Gautran ; or, House of White Shad- 
ows 20 

654 Love’s Harvest 20 

8.56 Golden Bells 10 

874 Nine of Hearts 20 

BY HARRIET FARLEY 

473 Christmas Stories 2ft 

BY F. W. FARRAR, D.D. 

1 9 Seekers af ter God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianity, 2 Parts, 

each 20 

BY GEORGE MANNVILLE FENN 

1004 This Man’s Wife 20 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life 20 

987 Romance of a Poor Young Man. . . . 10 

BY FRIEDRICH, BARON DE LA 

MOTTE FOUQUE 

711 Undine 10 

BY MRS. FORRESTER 

760 Fair Women 20 

818 Once Again 20 

843 My Lord and My Lady 20 

844 Dolores 20 

850 My Hero 20 

859 Viva 20 

860 Omnia Vanitas 10 

&)1 D ana Carew 20 

862 From Olympus to Hades 20 

863 Rhona 20 

864 Roy and Viola 20 

865 June 20 

866 Mignon 20 

867 A Young Man’s Fancy -21 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY, 


BY THOMAS FOWLER 

BSO Life of Locke 

BY FRANCESCA 

177 The Story of Ida 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON 

310 A llenl Queen 

856 Golden Bells 

BY ALBERT FRANKLYN 

122 Aineline de Bourg 

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH 

485 My Roses 

BY J. A. FROUDE 

348 Life of Bunyan 

BY EMILE GABORIAU 

114 Monsieur Lecoq, 2 Parts, each 

116 The Lerouge Case 

120 Other People’s Money 

129 In Peril of His Life 

138 The Gilded Clique 

155 Mystery of Orcival 

101 Promise of Marriage 

258 File No. 113 

BY HENRY GEORGE 

52 Progre.ss and Poverty 

300 Land Question 

303 Social Problems 

796 Property in Land 

BY CHARLES GIBBON 

57 The Golden Shaft 

BY J. V/. VON GOETHE 

342 Goethe's Faust 

343 Goethe’s Poems 

BY NIKOLAI V. GOGOL 

1016 Taras Bulla 

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

51 Vicar of Wakefield 

362 Plays and Poems 

BY MRS. GORE 

89 The Dean’s Daughter 

BY JAMES GRANT 

49 . The Secret Despatch 

BY HENRI GREVILLE. 

ICCl Frankley 

BY CECIL GRIFFITH 

732 Victory Deane 

BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS 

709 No. 09 

THE BROTHERS GRIMM 

221 Fairy Tales, Illustrated 

BY LIEUT. J. W. GUNNISON 

440 History of the Mormons 

BY ERNST HAECKEL 

97 India and Ceylon 

BY MARION HARLAND 

107 Housekeeping and Homemaking.. . , 


BY F. W. HACKLANDER 


606 Forbidden Fruit 20 

BY H. RIDER HAGGARD 

813 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

848 She 20 

876 The Witch’s Head 20 

900 Jess 20 

941 Dawn 20 

1020 Allan Quatermain 20 

BY A. EGMONT HAKE 

371 The Story of Chinese Gordon 20 

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15 L’Abbe Constantin 20 

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43 Two on a Tower 20 

157 Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
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749 The Mayor of Casterbridge 20 

956 The Woodlanders 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd 20 

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414 Over the Summer Sea 20 

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269 One False, both Fair 20 

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7 Clytie 20 

137 Cruel Loudon 20 

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370 Twice Told Tales 20 

376 Grandfather’s Chair 20 

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466 Under the Will 10 

566 The Arundel Motto 20 

590 Old Myddleton’s Money 20 

787 A Wicked Girl 10 

971 Nora’s Love Test 20 

v'72 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

9V3 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

974 My First Offer 10 

9T5 Back to ihe Old Home lO 

976 For Her Dear Sake 20 

977 Hidden Perils 20 

978 Victor and Vanquished 20 

BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS 

583 Poems 30 

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533 Principles and Fallacies of Social- 
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356 Hygiene of the Brain 25 

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709 Woman against Woman 20 

743 A Woman’s Vengeance 20 

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73 Life of Cromwell 15 

BY THOMAS HOOD 

511 Poems 30 


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LOVELL’S LIBEAET. 


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86 Life of Marion 20 

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14 The Tricks of the Greeks 20 

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970 Against Her Will 20 

993 The Child Wife 10 

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742 Social Solutions, Part I 10 

747 “ “ Part II 10 

758 “ “ Partin 10 

702 “ “ Part IV 10 

765 “ “ Party 10 

774 “ “ Part VI.., 10 

778 “ “ Part VII 10 

782 “ “ Part VIII 10 

785 “ Part IX 10 

788 *• “ PartX 10 

791 “ “ Part XI 10 

795 “ “ Part XII.,. 10 

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534 Papa’s Own Girl SO 

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635 Studies in Civil Service 15 

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(51 Tom Brown’s School Days 20 

186 Tom Brown at Oxford, 2 Parts, each . 15 

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109 The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

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784 Les Miserables, Part 1 20 

784 “ “ Part II 20 

784 “ “ Part III 20 

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147 The Sketch Book 20 

198 Tales of a Traveller 20 

199 Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

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Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

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224 Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey. . .10 
236 Knickerbocker History of New York. 20 

249 The Crayon Papers 20 

263 The Alhambra 15 

272 Conquest of Granada 20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

290 Salmagundi 20 

299 Astoria. 20 

801 Spanish Voyages 20 

805 A Tour on the Prairies .10 

808 Life of Mahomet, 2 Parts, each 15 

310 Oliver Goldsmith 20 

311 Captain Bonneville 20 

314 Moorish Chronicles 10 

821 Wolf erf s Boost and Miscellanies — 10 


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44 Basselas 10 

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754 A Modern Midas 20 

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111 Labor and Capital 20 

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89 The Hermits 20 

64 Hypatia, 2 Parts, each 15 

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726 Austin Eliot . .20 

728 The Hillyars and Burtons 20 

731 Leighton Court 20 

736 Geoffrey Hamlyn 30 

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822 Mark Sea worth 20 

824 Bound the World 20 

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837 Saltwater 20 

338 The Midshipman 20 

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454 The Golden Dog 4 ^: 

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445 The Bival Doctors 20 

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25 Divorce 20 

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725 Dr. Wilmer’s Love ...25 

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798 Prince of the Hundred Soup.s 10 

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469 The Chase 20 

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327 Harry Lorrequer 20 

789 Charles O’Malley, 2 Parts, each 20 

794 Tom Burke of Ours, 2 Parts, each , . 20 

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817 The Cruise of the Black Prince. . ..20 

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55 A Strange Story 20 

59 Last Hays of Pompeii 20 

81 Zanoni 20 

84 Night and Morning, 2 Parts, each. , 15 

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121 Lady of Lyons .10 

128 Money 10 

152 Richelieu 10 

160 Rienzi, 2 Parts, each 15 

176 Pelham 20 

204 Eueene Aram 20 

222 The Disowned 20 

240 Keuelrn Chillingly 20 

245 What Will He Do with It ? 2 Parts, 

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253 Lucretia 20 

255 Last of the Barons. 2 Parts, each ... 15 

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317 Pausanias 15 

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212 The Privateersman 20 

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353 Tales of the French Revolution 15 

354 Loom and Lugger 20 

357 Berkeley the Banker 20 

358 Homes Abroad ... 15 

363 For Each and For All 15 

372 Hill and Valley 15 

379 The Charmed Sea 15 

388 Life in the Wilds 15 

395 Sowers not Reapers 15 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 


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903 The Master Passion 20 

904 A Lucky Disappointment ..10 

905 Her Lord and Master 20 

906 My Own Child vQ 

907 No Intentions 20 

908 Written in Fire 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cupid’s Eyes 20 

931 Why Not? 20 

937 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary 10 

939 Girls of Feversham ... .20 

940 The Root of all Evil 20 

9 .2 Facing the Footlights 20 

943 Petronel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart 10 

945 Ange 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats 20 

947 The Poison of A«ps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda 20 

949 The Heir Presumptive 20 

950 Under the Lilies and Roses 20 

951 Heart of Jane Warner 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part I 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part II 20 

953 Phyllida 20 

9,54 Out of His Reckoning 10 

979 Her WorUl against a Lie 20 

900 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Dumaresq 20 

999 Fighting the Air 20 

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1G5 Eyre's Acquittal 10 

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1048 Story of a Sin 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe 20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves 20 

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60 The Two Duchesses 20 

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76 The Berber 20 

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278 Maid of Athens 20 

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328 How It All Came Round 20 

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331 Lucile 20 

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389 Paradise Lost 20 

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377 Life of Defoe 10 

BY MRS. MOLESWORTH 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage ..10 

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416 LallaRookh 20 

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383 Life of Gibbon .10 


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1000 Frederick the Great and ins Court.. 30 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress 30 

1033 Goethe and Schiller . 30 

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130 India: What Can It Teach Us? 20 

BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY 

197 By the Gate of the Sea 15 

758 Cynic Fortune 10 

BY F. MYERS 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

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33 John Halifax 20 

435 Miss Tommy 15 

751 King Arthur 20 

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564 Hand-Book for the Kitchen 20 

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83 Right and Wrong Uses of the Bible. .20 

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547 Life of Byron 10 

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5 Science at Horne 20 

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lOS No New Thing 20 

591 That Terrible Man 10 

770 My Friend Jim 10 

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433 Noctes Ambrosianee 30 

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1 36 Altiora Pete 20 

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124 The Ladies Lindores 20 

179 The Little Pilgrim 10 

175 Sir Tom 20 

326 The Wizard’s Son 25 

368 Old Lady Mary 10 

602 Oliver’s Binde 10 

717 A Country Gentleman 20 

831 The Son of his Father 20 

920 John: a Love Story 20 

925 A Poor Gentleman .20 

994 Lucy Croft on 10 

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112 Wanda. 2 Parts, each 15 

127 Under Two Flags, 2 Parts, each 20 

387 Princess Napraxine 25 

075 A Rainy June 10 

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790 Othmar .20 

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852 Friendship 20 

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459 John Bull and His Daughters 20 

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392 Life of Milton 10 

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830 The Canon’s Ward 20 

659 Luck of the Darrells 20 

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1015 Pemberton 30 

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403 Poems 20 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon Pym 15 

4^12 Gold Bug, and Other Tales 15 


438 The Assignation, and Other Tales.. 15 
447 The Murders in the Rue Morgue 15 

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406 The Theory of the Modern Scien- 


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391 Homers Odyssey 20 

396 Homer’s Iliad 30 

457 Poems 30 

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382 Thaddeus of Warsaw 25 


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838 The George-Hewitt Campaign 20 

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339 Poems 20 

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1010 Mrs. Gregory 20 

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28 Singleheart and Doubleface ...10 

415 A Perilous Secret 20 

759 Foul Play 20 

773 Put Yourself in his Place 20 

913 Griffith Gaunt. . . 20 

914 A Terrible Temptation 20 

915 Very Hard Cash 20 

916 It is Never Too Late to Mend 20 

917 The Knightsbridge Mystery 10 

918 A Woman Hater 20 

919 Readiana 10 

BY REBECCA FERGUS REDD 

16 Freckles 20 

408 The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

BY “ RITA 

556 Dame Durden 20 

599 Like Dian’s Kiss 20 

BY SIR H. ROBERTS 

101 Harry Holbrooke 20 


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134 Aiden 15 

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411 Children of the Abbey 30 

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837 IMarked ‘ ‘ In Haste ” . , 20 

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329 Poems 20 

BY MRS. ROWSON 

159 Charlotte Temple 10 

BY JOHN RUSKIN 

497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

505 Grown of Wild Olives 10 

5U) Ethics of the Dust 10 

516 Queen of the Air 10 

521 Seven Lamps of Architecture. 20 

637 Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 
ing 15 

542 Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

565 Modern Painters, Vol. 1 20 

572 “ Vol. II 20 

577 “ “ Vol. Ill 20 

5S9 “ “ Vol. IV 25 

608 “ “ Vol. V ...25 

598 King of the Golden River 10 

623 Unto this Last 10 

627 Munera Pulveris 15 

637 “ A Joy Forever ” 15 

639 The Pleasures of England 10 

642 The Two Paths 20 

644 Lectures on A.rt 15 

677 Aratra Pentelici 15 

650 Time and Tide 15 

665 Mornings in Florence 15 

668 St. Mark’s Rest 15 

670 Deucalion 15 

673 Art of England 15 

676 Eagle’s Nest 15 

679 “ Our Fathers Have Told Us” 15 

682 Proserpina 15 

685 Val d'Arno 15 

688 Love’s Meinie 15 

707 Fors Clavigera, Part 1 30 

708 “ ‘‘ Part IT 30 

713 “ “ Partin 30 

714 “ “ Part IV 30 

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123 A Sea Queen 20 

399 John Holdsworth 20 

833 A Voyage to the Cape 20 

834 .Tack’s Courtship 20 

835 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

836 On the Fo’k’sle Head 20 

997 The Golden Hope 20 

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816 The Broken Seal 20 

BY GEORGE SAND 

136 The Tower of Percemont 20 

965 The Lili'-s of Florence 20 

BY MRS. W. A. SAVILLE 

2V Social Etiquette 15 

BY J. X. B. SAINTINE 

710 Picciola .10 


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341 Schiller’s Poems 27 

BY MICHAEL SCOTT 

171 Tom Cringle’s Log 20 

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

145 Ivanhoe, 2 Parts, each 15 

359 Lady of the Lake, with Notes 20 

489 Bride of Lammermoor 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

495 Tlie Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

499 Heart of Mid-Lothian 30 

502 Waverley 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 30 

615 The Pirate 20 

536 Poetical Works 40 

544 Redgauntlet 25 

551 Woodstock 20 

557 Count Robert of Paris 20 

f69 The Abbot 20 

575 Quentin Durward 20 

581 The Talisman 20 

586 St. Ron nil's Well 20 

.5!?^ Anne of Geierstein 20 

605 Aunt Margaret’s Mirror 10 

607 Chronicles of the Canongate 15 

609 The Monastery 20 

620 Guy Mannering 20 

625 Kenilworth 25 

629 The Antiquary 20 

632 Rob Roy 20 

635 The Betrothed 20 

638 Fai r Maid of Perth 20 

641 Old Mortality 20 

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22 Fleurette 20 

BY PRINCIPAL SHAIRP 

334 Life of Burns 10 

BY MARY W. SHELLEY 

5 Frankenstein 10 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

549 Complete Poetical Works 30 

BY S. SHELLEY 

191 The Nautz Family 20 

BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS 

640 The Partisan 30 

648 Mellichampe .30 

653 The Yemassee 30 

657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho I .30 

671 The Scout .30 

674 The Wigwam and Cabin SO 

677 Vasconselos 30 

680 Confession 30 

684 W oodcraf t 30 

687 Richard Hurdis .30 

690 Guy Rivers 30 

693 Border Beagles SO 

697 The Forayers 30 

702 Oharlemont SO 

703 Eutaw 30 

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824 Karma 20 

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780 Bad to Beat 10 

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425 Self-Help 25 

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594 A Summer in Skye 20 

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110 False Hopes 15 

424 Life of Cowper 10 

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65 Selma .15 

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248 Life of Webster, 2 Parts, each 15 


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449 Quisiana 20 

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396 Life of Pope 10 

401 Life of J ohnson 10 

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461 Socialism 10 

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173 Underground Russia 20 

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767 Kidnapped 20 

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769 Prince Otto 10 

770 The Dynamiter 20 

793 New Arabian Nights 20 

819 Treasure Island 20 

921 The Merry Men 20 

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729 In Prison and Out 20 


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772 Mysteries of Paris, 2 Part^. each ... 20 
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148 Catherine 10 

156 Lovel, the Widower 10 

164 Barry Lyndon 20 

172 Vanity Fair 30 

193 History of Pendennis, 2 Parts, each. .20 

211 The Newcomes, 2 Parts, each 20 

220 Book of Snobs 10 

229 Paris Sketches . . 20 

235 Adventures of Philip, 2 Parts, each ,15 

288 The Virginians, 2 Parts, each 20 

252 Critical Reviews, etc 10 

256 Eastern Sketches 10 

262 Fatal Boots, etc 10 

264 The Four Georges 10 

250 Fitzboodle Papers, etc 10 

283 Roundabout Papers. . 20 

285 A Legend of the Rhine, etc 10 

286 Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

292 Irish Sketches, etc 20 

296 Men’s Wives 10 

300 Novels by Eminent Hands 10 

303 Character Sketches, etc 10 

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306 Ballads 15 

307 Yellowplush Papers 10 

309 Sketches and Travels in London 10 

313 English Humorists 15 

316 Gieat Hoggarty Diamond IC 

320 The Rose and the Ring 10 

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04 Tempest Tossed, Part 1 26 

94 Tempest Tossed, Part II 20 

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133 Mr. Scarborough’s Family, 2 Parts, 

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251 Autobiography of Anthony Trollope.20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

367 An Old Man’s Love 15 

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895 Moonshine 20 

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468 The Count of Talavera 20 

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540 Poems 25 

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34 800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

35 The Cryptogram 10 

154 Tour of the World in Eighty Days. .20 

166 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea .. . 20 

185 The Mysterious Island, 3 Parts, each.15 

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355 More Leaves from a Life in the High- 
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1056 Mr. Smith .20 

1056 The History of a Week 10 

1057 The Baby's Grandmothe' 20 

1058 Troublesome Daughter 20 

1050 Cousins 20 

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18 The Three Spaniards 20 

BY PROF. A. W. WARD 

413 Life of Chaucer 10 

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757 Doris’ Fortune 10 

080 At tlie World’s Mr'rcy 10 

981 The House on the Marsh 20 

982 Deldee 20 

983 A Prince of Darkness 20 

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935 Ten Thousand a Year, Part 1 20 

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“ ** Part III ....20 

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427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

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611 At a High Price 20 

734 Vineta 20 

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902 The Mysteiy 20 

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194 Widow Bedott Papers 20 

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963 Her Johnnie. 20 

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724 Broken to Harness 20 

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858 A Modem Telemachus .20 

899 Love and Life 20 

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666 Barbara’s Rival 20 

691 A Woman’s Honor 20 

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47 Baron Munchausen 10 

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66 Margaret and her Bridesmaids 20 

72 Queen of the County 20 

98 The Gypsy Queen 20 

118 A New Lease of Life 20 

169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

181 Whist, or Bumblepuppy? ... 10 

360 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

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265 Plutarch’s Lives, 5 Parts, each 20 

291 Famous Fu! ny Fellows 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton’s Rangers 20 

385 Swiss P’amily Robinson 20 

386 Childhood of the World 10 

397 Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. . . .25 
402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

483 The Child Hunters 15 

857 A Wilful Young Woman 20 

966 The Story of Our Mess 20 

967 The Three Bummers 20 

1019 Soeur Louise 20 


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LOVELL’S LIBRARY 




980 At the World^s Mercy, F. Warden. 10 

981 The House on the Marsh, by F. 


Warden 20 

982 Deldee, by F. Warden 20 


983 A Prince of Darkness, by Warden.. 20 

984 ’Twixt Smile and Tear, by Clay... 20 

985 Lady Diana’s Pride, by B, M. Clay.. 20 
936 Belle of Lynn, by Bertha M. Clay... 20 
9S7 Romance of a Poor Young Man, by 

Octave Feuillet 10 

988 Marjorie’s Fate, by Bertha M. Clay. 20 

989 Sweet Cymbcliae, by B. M. Clay . . .20 

990 Open Sesame, by Florence Marryat. 20 

931 Mad Dumaresq, by F. Marryat 20 

992 Camille, by Alexandre Dumas, Jr.. 10 

993 The Child Wife, by A. M. Howard. 10 

994 Lucy Crofton, by Mrs. Oliphant.. . .10 

995 Which Shall it Be ? by Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

995 The Queen of Hearts, by Collins. ..20 

997 The Golden Hope, by W. C. Russc 11.20 

998 Beau Tancrede, by Alex. Dumas 20 

999 Fighting the Air, by F. Marryat. . 20 

1000 Frederick the Great and his Court, 


by Louisa Miihlbach 30 

1001 Frankley, by Henri Grevillo 20 


1002 To Call Her Mine, by W. Besant.20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel, by W. Collins. 10 

1004 This Man’s Vv’’ife, by G. M. Fenn. . 20 

1005 Next of Kin Wanted, by M. Beth- 

am-Edwards 20 

1005 A Daughter of the People, by 

Georgiana M. Craik 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love, by B. M. Clay.20 
LOOS Marrying and Giving in Marriage, 
by Mrs. Molesworth 10 

1009 The Great Hesper, by F. Barrett..20 

1010 Mrs. Gregory, by Agnes Ray 20 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies, by Aimard.lO 

1012 The Squire’s Darling, by Clay. . . 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell, by Clay.20 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress, by 

Louisa Muhlbach 30 

1015 Pemberton, by Henry Peterson... 30 

1016 Taras Bulba, by Nikolai V. Gogol.. 20 

1017 A Vital Question, by Nikolai G. 

Tchernuishevsky. 30 

1018 The Condemned Door, by F. dn 

Boisgobey 20 

1019 Soeur Louise (Louise de Bruneval)20 

1020 Allan Quatermain, by Haggard. . . 20 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter, by 

Gustave Aimard 10 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1023 Red as a Rose is She, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

1025 Not Wisely, But Too Well, by 

Rhoda Broughton 20 


1026 Nancy, by Rhoda Broughton 20 

1027 Joan, by Rhoda Biougnton 20 


1028 A Neai’ Relation, by Coleridge 20 

1C29 Brenda Yorke, by Mary Cecil Hay 10 

1030 On Her Wedding Morn, by Clay.. 10 

1031 The Shattered Idol, by B. M. Clay. 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer, by G. Aimard.. 10 

1033 Letty Leigh, by Bertha M. Clay... 10 

1034 Mary Anerley,by R. D. BIackmore.20 

1035 Alice Lorraine, by Blackmore. . . 20 

1036 Christoweli, byR. D. Blackmore .20 

1037 Clara Vaughan, by Blackmore.. . .20 

1038 Cripps the Carrier, by Blackmore 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomas 

Upmore, by R. D. Blackmore. . 20 

1040 Erema; or. My Father’s Sin, by 

R. D. Blackmore 20 

1041 The Mystery of the Holly Tree, by 

Bertha M. Clay 10 

1042 The Earl's Error, by B. M. Clay. . 10 

1043 Arnold’s Promise, by B. M. Clay.. 10 

1044 Forging the Fetters,by Alexander. 10 

1045 The Trappers of Arkansas, by 

Gustave Aimard 10 

1046 Cornin’ thro’ the Rye, by Mathers.20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart, by Mathers,... 20 

1048 Story of a Sin, by H. B. Mathers.. 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe, by H. B. Mathers. . .20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves, by Math- 

ers 20 

1051 An Unnatural Bondage, by Clay. . 10 

1052 Border Rifles, by Gustave Aimard.lO 

1053 Gold Elsie, by E. Marlitt 20 

1054 Goethe and Schiller, by Muhlbach. 30 

1055 Mr. Smith, by L. B. Walford 20 

1055 The History of a Week,by Walford. 10 

1057 The Baby’s Grandmother, by Wal- 

ford 20 

1058 Troublesome Daughters, by Wal- 

ford 20 

1059 Cousins, by L. B. Walford ... 20 

1060 The Bag of Diamonds, by Penn. .20 

1061 Red Spider, by S. Baring-Gould. 20 

1062 Dick’s Wandering, by J. Sturgis.. 20 

1063 The Freebooters, by G. Aimard. . .10 

1064 Tlie Duke’s Secret, by B. M. Clay.20 

1065 A Modern Circe, by The Duchess 20 
1065 An American Journey, by Aveling.30 

1067 Geoffrey Moncton, by S. Moodie . . 30 

1068 Flora Lyndsay, by S. Moodie 20 

1069 The White Scalper, by G. Aimard.lO 

1070 Confessions of an English Opium 

Eater, by Thomas de Quincey...20 

1071 Guide of the Desert, by Aimai'd. . 10 

From Advance Sheets : 

1072 “ The Duchess,” by The Duchess.20 


1073 Scheherazade, by F. Warden 20 

1074 Roughing it in the Bush, by Su- 

sanna Moodie 20 


1075 The Insurgent Chief, by Aimard. . 10 


Dealers can always obtain complete Catalogues with imprint, for free distribu- 
tion, on application to the Publishers, 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 & 16 Vesey Street, New York. ■ 


Flora Lyndsay 

OR 

PASSAGES IN AN EVENTFUL LIFE 


BY 

MRS. MOODIE 

v» 

AUTHOR OF “MARK HURDLESTONE,” “LIFE IN THE CLEARINGS,’* 
'^ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH,” ETC, 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME 


c, 






NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street 




CONTENTS, 


CBAFTER 






PAGB 

I. MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE, - 

- 

m 


m 

• 

5 

II. THE OLD CAPTAIN, - - - 






10 

III. THE OLD CAPTAIN IN PERSON, - 

m 

m 

- 

9 

• 

13 

IV. A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE, - 

• 

m 

• 

9 

m 

18 

V. THE TRUE FRIEND, - 

• 

m 

• 

• 

• 

25 

VI. flora’s outfit. 






28 

TXI. HOW MISS WILHELMINA CARR AND FLORA 

BECAME 

AC- 


QUAINTED, ... - 






32 

VIII. MISS WILHELMINA CALLS UPON FLORA, 

• 

• 


- 

40 

IX. FLORA GOES TO TEA WITH MISS CARR, 

- 

- 

• 


48 

X. OLD JARVIS AND HIS DOG NEPTUNE, 

•• 

m 

• 

• 

60 

XI. FLORA IN SEARCH OF A SERVANT, 

HEARS A 

REAL GHOST 


STORY, - - - • • 





- 

67 

XII. THE LAST HOURS AT HOME, • 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

82 

THE DEPARTURE, - - - 

- 

• 


• 

- 

88 

XIV. AN OPEN BOAT AT SEA, 

m 

• 

m 

9 

- 

94 

XV. ONCE MORE AT HOME, 

m 

• 

m 

9 

• 

100 

XVI. THE FOG, . - . • - 






103 

XVII. THE STEAMBOAT, ... 






107 

XVIII. A PEEP INTO THE LADIES* CABIN, 

m 

• 

9 

9 


112 

XIX. MRS. DALTON, - - . - 






120 

XX. EDINBURGH, • • . • 

m 

• 

m 



125 

XXI. MRS. WADDEL, - - . • 






129 

XXII. CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN, 

- 

• 

9 

• 


135 

XXIII. THE BRIG ANNE, ... 

• 

• 

9 

• 


141 

XXIV. A VISIT TO THE SHIP-OWNER, - 

- 

m 

9 



Ue 

XXV. flora’s DINNER, - - - 

• 

m 

9 



153 

XXVI. FEARS OF THE CHOLERA — DEPARTURE 

FROM SCOTLAND, 

160 

XXVII. A NEW SCENE AND STRANGE FACES 

) 

• 

9 

9 

- 

I O’’ 

XXVIII. THE STATE CABIN, - - - 






175 

.XXIX. flora’s FELLOW-PASSE IGERS, 

- 

m 

• 

- 

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181 


IV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER FAGB 

XXX. THE LAST GLANCE OF SCOTLAND, - , . - IQO 

XXXI. STEPHEN CORRIE, - - - - - . . 195 

XXXII. THE captain’s ’prentice, 201 

XXXIII. THE LOST JACKET, AND OTHER MATTERS, ... 205 

XXXIV. STORY OF NOAH COTTON — THE WIDOW GRIMSHAWE, AND 

HER NEIGHBORS, 216 

XXXV. THE SISTERS, ......... 221 

XXXVI. THE GHOST, 231 

XXXVII. THE PROPOSAL, - -- -- -- - 242 

XXXVIII. THE DISCLOSURE, - - 248 

XXXIX. THE NIGHT ALONE, ••••--.. 256 

XL. THE MEETING, - ••••••. 260 

XLI. THE murderer’s MANUSCRIPT, • • - • - 263 

XLII. MY FIRST LOVE, - 268 

XLIII. TEMPTATION, - •••••• - 274 

XLIV. THE PLOT, - - • • - - - - - 279 

XLV. THE MURDER, - ••••--. 285 

XLVI. THE MOTHER, - - • • • • • -291 

XLVII. A LAST LOOK AT OLD FRIENDS, • - • • . 295 

XLVIII. MY MOTHER AND THE SQUIRE, ----- 300 

XLIX. EVIL THOUGHTS — THE PANGS OF REMORSE, - - 308 

L. TRUST IN GOD, 314 

LI. FISHING ON THE BANKS, • • - • - 316 

LII. THE STORM, - -- -- -- - 326 

UII. THE SHI? COMES TO ANCHOR, AND THE BOOK TO A CLOSE 336 


FLORA LYNDSAI; 


OB, 

PASSAGES IN AN EVENTFUL LIFE 


CHAPTER I. 

A MATBIMONIAL DIALCGUil. 

“ Flora, have you forgotten the talk we had about emigration 
the morning before our marriage ?” was a question .'^ther suddenly 
put to his young wife, by Lieutenant lyndsay, as he paused in hia 
walk to and fro in the room. The fact is, that he Lad been pon- 
dering over that conversation for the last hour. 

It had long been forgotten by his wife ; who, seatea npon the 
sofa with a young infant of three months old in her lap, was calmly 
watching its sleeping face with inexpressible delight. She now 
left off her maternal studies ; and looked up at her husband, with 
an inquiring glance — 

Why do you ask, dear John ?’* 

“ Are you turned Quaker, Flora, that you cannot give one e 
direct answer ?” 

I have not forgotten it. But we have been to happy ever 
since, that I have never given it a second thought. What put it 
into your head just now 

“ That child — and thinking how I could provide for her in any 
other way.” 

“ Dear little pet ! She cannot add much to our expenses.” And 
the mother bent over her sleeping child, and kissed its soft, velvet 
cheek, with a zest that mothers alone know. 

“Not at present. But the little pet will in time grow into f 
tall girl ; and other little pets may be treading upon her footsteps 
and they must all be clothed, and fed, and educated.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Flora, in her overflowing happiness, had dismissed all such crudi 
realities from her mind. 

“ Emigration is a terrible word, John. I wish that it could be 
expunged from our English dictionary.’' 

I am afraid, my dear girl, that you are destined to learn a 
practical illustration of its meaning. Nay, don’t look so despond- 
ingly. If you intended to remain in England, you should not have 
married a poor man.” 

Don’t say that, John, or you will make me miserable. Our 
marriage made me rich in treasures, which gold could never buy. 
But, seriously, I do not see this urgent necessity for taking such a 
hazardous step. I know that we are not rich — that our expecta- 
tions on that score for the future are very limited. We are both 
the younger children of large families, whose wealth and conse- 
quence is now a thing of the past. We have nothing to hope or 
anticipate from rich relations ; but we have enough to be comfort- 
able, and are surrounded with many blessings. Our little girl, 
whose presence seems to have conjured before you the gaunt image 
of poverty, has added greatly to our domestic happiness. Yes, 
little Miss Innocence ! you are awake, are you ? Come, crow to 
papa, and drive these ugly thoughts out of his head.” 

The good father kissed fondly the young thing seducingly held 
up to him. But he did not yield to the temptation, or swerve 
from his purpose, though Flora kissed Am, with eyes brimful of 
tears. 

“ We are indeed happy, love. Too happy, I might say. But 
will it last ?” 

Why not ?” 

Our income is very small ?” with a deep sigh. 

“ It is enough for our present wants. And we have no debts.” 

Thanks to your prudent management. Yes, we have no debts. 
But it has been a hard battle, only gained by great self-denial, and 
much pinching. We have kind friends, too. But Flora, I am too 
proud to be indebted to friends for the common necessaries of life ; 
and without doing something to improve our scanty means, it 
might come to that. The narrow income which has barely sup- 
plied our wants this year, without the incumbrance of a family, 
will not do so next. There remains no alternative but to emi- 
p-ate /” 

Flora felt that this was pressing her hard. All her affectionate 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


t 


ingenuity could not furnish an argument against such home trutha 
Let us drop this hateful subject,” said she, hastily ; “ I cannol 
bear to think about it.” 

But, my dear girl, we must force ourselv3s to think about it, 
calmly and dispassionately ; and having determined which h the 
path of duty, we must follow it out, without any reference to our 
own likes and dislikes. Our marriage would have been a most im- 
prudent one, had it been contracted on any other terms ; and we 
are both to blame that we have loitered away so many months of 
valuable time in happy ease, when we should have been earning 
independence for ourselves and our family.” 

“ You may be right, John, — yes, I know that you are right. 
But it is no such easy matter to leave your home and country, and 
the dear friends whose society renders life a blessing and poverty 
endurable — to abandon a certain good for an uncertain better, to 
be sought for among untried difficulties. I would rather live in a 
cottage in England, upon brown bread and milk, than occupy a 
palace on the other side of the Atlantic.” 

“ This sounds very prettily in poetry. Flora ; but, my dear girl, 
life is made up of stern realities, and it is absolutely necessary for 
us to provide against the dark hour before it comes suddenly upon 
us. Our future prospects press upon my heart and brain too 
forcibly to be neglected. I have thought long and painfully upon 
the subject, and I have come to the resolution to emigrate this 
spring.” 

So soon ?” 

“ The sooner the better. The longer we defer it the more diffi- 
culties we shall have to encounter. The legacy left you by your 
aunt will pay our expenses out, and enable us, without touching 
my half-pay, to purchase a farm in Canada.” 

“ Canada !” 

Flora’s eye brightened. 

“ Oh, I am so glad that it is not to the Cape of Good Hope !’' 

“ In this decision, Flora, I have yielded to your wishes. My 
own inclinations would lead me back to a country where I have 
dear friends, a large tract of land, and where some of the happiest 
years of my life were spent. You are not wise, Flora, to regard 
the Cape with such horror. No person would delight more in the 
beautiful and romantic scenery of that country than yourself. You 
have taken up a foolish prejudice against the land I love.” 


8 


FLOPA LYNDSAY. 


It is not that, dear John. But you know I have such a terror 
of the wild beasts — those dreadful snakes and lions! I never 
should dare to stir beyond the garden, for fear of being stung or 
devoured. And then, I have been bored to death about the Cape, 

by our good friends the P ’s, till I hate the very name of the 

place I” 

“ You will perhaps one day find out your error, Flora; and your 
fears are perfectly absurd ! Not wishing to render your emigration 
more painful, by taking you to a country to which you are so 
averse, I have made choice of Canada, hoping that it might be more 
to your taste. The only obstacle in the way, is the reluctance you 
feel at leaving your friends. Am I less dear to you. Flora, than 
friends and country V* 

This was said so kindly, and with such affectionate earnestness 
for her happiness more than his own — for it was no small sacrifice 
to Lyndsay to give up going back to the Cape — that it overcame 
all Flora’s obstinate scruples. 

“ Oh, no, no ! — ^you are more to me than all the world ! I will 
try and reconcile myself to any change, for your sake I” 

“ Shall I go first, and leave you with your mother until I have 
arranged matters in Canada ?” 

“ Such a separation would be worse than death ! I would 
rather encounter a thousand dangers, than remain in England with- 
out you ! If it must be, I will never say another word against it !” 

Here followed a heavy sigh. The young husband kissed the 
tears from her cheek, and whispered — 

“ That she was his dear, good girl.” 

And Flora wotild have followed him to the deserts of Arabia. 

I have had a long conversation with a very sensible, practical 
man,” continued Lyndsay, “ who has lately come to England upon 
colonial business. He has been a settler for some years in Canada, 
and the accounts he has given me of the colony are so favorable, 
and hold out such encouragement of ultimate success and independ- 
ence, that they have decided mj in my choice of making a trial of 
the backwoods. I promised to meet him this morning at the 
Crown Inn — where he puts up — to look over maps and plans, and 
have some farther talk upon the subject. I thought, dear, that it 
was better for me to consult you upon the matter before I to> any 
decided steps. You have borne the ill news better than I expected ; 
80 keep up your spirits until I return, which will not be long.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Flora remained in deep thought fcr some time after the door had 
closed upon her husband. She could now recall every word of that 
eventful conversation, which they had held together the morning 
before their marriage, upon th-e subject of emigration. In the 
happy prospect of becdining his wife, it had not then appeared to 
her so terrible. 

Faithfully had he reminded her of the trials she must expect to 
en<iounter, in uniting her destiny to a poor gentleman, ana had 
pointed out emigration as the only remedy for counteracting the 
imprudence of such a step ; and Flora, full of love and faith, was 
not hard to be persuaded. She considered that to be his wife, 
endowed as he was by nature with so many moral and intellectual 
qualities, with a fine face and noble form, would make her the rich- 
est woman in the world ; that there was in him a mine of mental 
wealth, which could never decrease, but which time and experience 
would augment, and come what might, she in the end was sure to 
be the gainer. 

She argued thus : — “ Did I marry a man whom I could not love, 
merely for his property, and the position he held in society ? mis- 
fortune might depriv*" him of these, and a disagreeable companion 
for life would remain t^ Teinind me constan-’y my choice. But 
a generous, talented man like Lyndsay, by industry and prudence 
may become rich, and then the most avaricious worlding would 
applaud the step I had taken.” 

We think after all, that Flora reasoned wisely, and, acting up to 
her convictions, did right. The world, we know, would scarcely 
agree with us ; but in matters of the heart, the world is rarely con- 
sulted. 

They were married, and, retiring to a pretty cottage upon the 
sea-coast, confined their expenditure to their limited means, and 
were contented and happy, and so unch in love with each other 
and their humble lot, that up to this period, all thoughts upon the 
dreaded subject of emigration had been banished from one mind, at 
least. Flora knew her husband too well to suspect him of changing 
a resolution he had orxve formed on the suggestion of duty. She 
felt, too, that he was right ; that painful as the struggle was, to part 
with all dear to her on earth, save him, that it must be made. 
‘‘Yes, I can, and will dare all things, my beloved husband, for 
your sake,” she said. “ My heart may at times rebel, but I will 
shut out all its weak complainings. I am ready to follow yoa 

I* 


10 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


through good and ill — to toil for our future maintenance, or live at 
ease. England — my country 1 the worst trial will be to part from 
you !” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE OLD CAPTAIN. 

Flora’s reveries were abruptly dispelled by a gentle knock at 
the door ; and her “ Come in,” was answered by a tall, portly, 
handsome old lady, who sailed into the room in all the conscious 
dignity of black silk and white lawn. 

The handsome old lady was Mrs. Kitson, the wife of the naval 
officer, whose ready-furnished lodgings they had occupied for the 
last year. Flora rose to meet her visitor, with the baby still upon 
her arm. 

“Mrs. Kitson, I am happy to see you. Pray take the easy* 
chair by the fire. I hope your cough is better ?” 

“No chance of that,” said the healthy old lady, who had never 
known a fit of dangerous illness in her life, “ while I continue so 
weak. Hu — hu — ^hu! You see, my dear, that it is as bad as 
ever.” 

Flora thought that she never had seen a person at Mrs. Kitson’s 
advanced stage of life with such a healthy, rosy visage. But 
every one has some pet weakness. Mrs. Kitson’s was always 
fancying herself ill and nervous. Now, Flora had no very benig- 
nant feelings towards the old lady’s long catalogue of imaginary 
ailments ; so she changed the dreaded subject, by inquiring after 
the health of the old Captain, her husband. 

“ Ah, my dear, he’s just as well as ever — nothing in the world 
ever ails him ; and little he cares for the sufferings of another. 
This is a great day with him ; he’s all bustle and fuss. Just step 
to the window, and look at his doings. It’s enough to drive a sen- 
sible woman mad. Talk of women wearing the smalls, indeed ! it’s 
a base libel on the sex. Captain Kitson is not content with put- 
ting on my apron, but he appropriates my petticoats also. I can- 
not give an order to my maid, but he contradicts it, or buy 
a pound of tea, but he weighs it after the grocer. Now, my dear, 
what would you do if the Leaf tenant was like my husband?” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


11 


“ Keally, I don’t know,” and Flora laughed heartily. “ It must 
be rather a trial of patience to a good housekeeper like you. But 
what is he about ?” she cried, stepping to the window that over- 
looked a pretty lawn in front of the house, which commanded a fine 
view of the sea. “ He and old Kelly seem up to their eyes in busi- 
ness. What an assemblage of pots and kettles, and household 
stuff, there is upon the lawn ! Are you going to have an auction ?” 

“You may well think so ; if that were the case, there might be 
some excuse for his folly. No ; all this dirt and confusion, which 

once a week drives me nearly beside myself, is what K calls 

clearing up the ship ; when he and his man Friday, as he calls 
Kelly, turn everything topsy-turvy ; and, to make the muddle more 
complete, they always chose my washing-day for their frolic. Pan- 
tries and cellars are rummaged over, and everything is dragged out 
of its place, for the mere pleasure of making a litter, and dragging 
it in again. 

“ Look at the lawn ! covered with broken dishes, earless jugs, 
cracked plates, and bottomless saucepans,” continued Mrs. Kitson* 
“ What a dish of nuts for my neighbors to crack ! They always 
Cinjoy a hearty laugh at my expense, on Kitson’s clearing-up days. 
But what does he care for my distress ? Li vain I hide up all this 
old trumpery in the darkest nooks in the cellar and pantry — 
nothing escapes his prying eyes ; and then he has such a memory, 
that if he misses an old gallipot he raises a storm loud enough to 
shake down the house. 

“ The last time he went to London,” pursued the old lady, “ I 
collected a vast quantity of useless trash, and had it thrown into 
the pond behind the house. Well, when he cleared the decks next 
time, if he did not miss the old broken crockery, all of which, he 
said, he meant to mend with white lead on rainy days ; while the 
broken bottles, forsooth, he had saved to put on the top of the brick 
wall, to hinder the little boys from climbing over to steal the 
apples ! Oh, dear, dear, dear ! there was no end to his bawling, 
and swearing, and calling me hard names, while he had the impu- 
dence to tell Kelly, in my hearing, that I was the most extravagant 
woman in the world. Now, J, that have borne him seventeen 
children, should know something about economy and good manage* 
ment ; but he gives me no credit at all for that. He began scold 
ing again, to-day, but my poor head could not stand it any longer 
so I came over to spend a few minutes with you.” 


12 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


T'^e handsome old lady paused to draw breath, and looked so 
much excited with this recapitulation of her domestic wrongs, that 
Mrs. Lyndsay thought it not improbable she had performed her 
own part in the scolding. 

As to Flora, she was highly amused by the old Captain’s vaga- 
ries. By-the-bye,” she said, “ had he any luck in shooting, this 
morning? He was out by sunrise with his gun.” 

The old lady fell back in her chair, and laughed immoderately. 

“ Shooting ! Yes, yes, that was another frolic of his. But Kit- 
son’s an old fool, and I have told him so a thousand times. So 
you saw him this morning with the gun ?” 

“ Why, I was afraid he might shoot Lyndsay, who was shaving 
at the window. The Captain pointed his gun sometimes at the 
window, and sometimes at the eaves of the house, but as the gun 
always missed fire, I began to regain my courage, and so did the 
sparrows, for they only chattered at him in defiance.” 

And well they might. Why, my dear, would you believe it, 
he had no powder in his gun ! Now, Mrs. Lyndsay, you will per- 
haps think that I am telling you a story, the thing is so absurd ; 
yet I assure you that it’s strictly true. But you know the man. 
When my poor Nelly ^ied, she left all her little property to her 
father, as she knew none of her late husband’s relations — never was 
introduced to one of them in her life. In her dressing-case he 
found a box of charcoal for cleaning teeth, and in spite of all that I 
could say or do, he insisted that it was gunpowder. * Gunpowder f 
says I, ‘ what would our Nelly do with gunpowder ? It’s charcoal, 
.V tell you.’ 

' Then he smelt it, and smelt it — ^ ’Tis gunpowder, Sally ! Don’t 
ycii think that I know the smell of gunpowder ? I, that was with 
Nelson at Copenhagen and Trafalgar?’ 

‘ ’Tis the snuff in your nose, that makes everything smell alike ;* 
says I. “ Do you think that our Nelly would clean her beautiful 
while teeth with gunpowder ?’ 

“‘Why not?’ says he; ‘there’s charcoal in gunpowder. And 
now. Madam, if you dare to contradict me again, I will shoot you 
with it, to prove the truth of what I say !’ 

“ Well, after that, I held my tongue, though I did not choose to 
give ’)p. I thought to spite him, so for once I let him have his 
own way. He spent an hour last night cleaning his old rusty gun ; 
and rose this morning by daybreak with the intention of murdering 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


13 


all the sparrows. No wonder that the sparrows laughed at him. 
I have done nothing but laugh ever since — so out of sheer revenge-, 
he proclaimed a cleaning day; and he and Kelly are now hard 
at it.’’ 

Flora was delighted with this anecdote of their whimsical land- 
lord ; but before she could answer his better-half, the door was sud- 
denly opened, and the sharp, keen face of the little officer was 
thrust into the room. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE OLD CAPTAIN IN PERSON. 

“ Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear ; that nurse of yours is going to hang 
out your clothes in front of the sea. Now, it’s hardly decent of 
her to expose female garments to every boat that may be passing.” 

The Captain’s delicacy threw poor Flora nearly into convul- 
sions of laughter — ^while he continued, rather pettishly — 

“ She knows no more how to handle a rope than a pig. If you 
will just tell her to wait a bit, until I have overhauled my vessel, 
I will put up the ropes for you myself.” 

And hang out the clothes for you, Mrs. Lyndsay, if you will 
only give him the treat — and then, he will not shock the sensitive 
nerves of the sailors, by hanging them near the sea,” sneered the 
handsome old lady. 

“ I hate to see things done in a lubberly manner,” muttered the 
old tar. 

“ Oh, pray oblige him, Mrs. Lyndsay. He is such an old 
woman. I wonder he does not ask your permission to let him 
wash the clothes.” 

“ Fresh water is not my element, Mrs. Kitson, though I have 
long known, that hot water is yours. I never suffer a woman to 
touch my ropes, and Mrs. Lyndsay borrowed those ropes this 

morning of me. Don’t interrupt me, Mrs. K ; attend to your 

business and leave me to mine. Put a stopper upon that clapper 
of yours ; which goes at the rate of ten knots an hour— or look out 
for squalls.” 

In the hope of averting the storm, which Flora saw was gather- 
ing on the old man’s brow, and which in all probability, had been 


14 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


brewing all the morning, she assured the Captain, that he might 
take the command of her nurse, ropes, clothes, and all. 

“Mrs. Lyndsay, — ^you are a sensible woman, — which is more 
than I can say of some folks,” glancing at his wife ; “ and I hope 
that you mean to subunit patiently to the yoke of matrimony ; and 
not pull one way while your husband pulls the other. To sail well 
together on the sea of life, you must hold fast to the right end of 
the rope and haul in the same direction.” 

His hand was upon the lock of the door, and the old lady had 
made herself sure of his exit, and was comfortably settling herself 
for a fresh spell of gossip at his expense, when he suddenly returned 
to the sofa on which Flora was seated ; and putting his mouth 
quite close to her ear, while his little inquisitive grey eyes sparkled 
with intense curiosity, said, in a mysterious whisper, “ How is this, 
my dear — I hear that you are going to leave us ?” 

Flora started with surprise. Not a word had transpired of the 
conversation she had lately had with her husband. Did tho old 
Captain possess the gift of second-sight? “ Captain Kitson,” she 
said, in rather an excited tone ; while the color flushed up into 
her face, “ who told you so?” 

“ Then it is true ?” and the old fox rubbed his hands and nodded 
his head, at the success of his stratagem. “ Who told me ? — why, 
I can’t say, who told me. Tou know, where there are servants 
living in the house, and walls are thin — news travels fast.” 

“ And when people have sharp ears to listen to what is passing 
in their neighbors’ houses,” muttered the old lady, in a provoking 
aside, “ news travels faster still.” 

Flora was annoyed beyond measure at the impertinent curiosity 
of the inquisitive old man. She felt certain that her conversation 
with her husband had been overheard. She knew that Captain 
Kitson and his wife were notable gossips, and it was mortifying to 
know that their secret plans in a few hours would be made public. 
She replied coldly, “ Captain Kitson, you have been misinformed ; 
we may have talked over such a thing in private as a matter of 
speculation, but nothing at present has been determined.” 

“ Now, my dear, that won’t do ; leave an old sailor to And out a 
rat. I tell you that ’tis the common report of the day. Besides, 
is not the Leafien-'' ' ‘ gone this morning with that scapegrace, Tom 
W , to hear some lying land-shark preach about Canada.” 

“ Lecture! Kitson,” said the old lady, who was not a whit bo 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


15 


hind her spouse in wishing to extract the news, though she suffered 
him to be the active agent in the matter. 

“ Lecture or preach, it’s all one ; only the parson takes his text 
from the Bible to hold forth upon, and these agents, employed by 
the Canada Company, say what they can out of their own heads. 
The object in both is to make money. I thought the Leaftenant 
had been too long in a colony to be caught by chaff.” 

“ My husband can judge for himself. Captain Kitson. He does 
not need the advice, or the interference of a third person,” said 
Flora, coloring again. And this time she felt really angry ; but 
there was no shaking the old man off. 

‘‘ To be sure — to be sure,” said her tormentor, without taking 
the smallest notice of her displeasure ; “ people are all wise in their 
own eyes. But what is Canada to you, my dear ? A fine settler’s 
wife you will make ; nervous and delicate, half the time confined 
to your bed with some complaint or other. And then, when you 
are well, the whole blessed day is wasted in reading and writing, 
and coddling up the baby. I tell you, that sort of business will not 
answer in a rough country like Canada. I was there often enough 
during the American war, and I know that the country won’t suit 
you, — no, nor you won’t suit the country.” 

Finding that Mrs. Lyndsay made no answer to this burst of elo- 
quence, he continued, in a coaxing tone — 

Now, just for once in your life, my dear, be guided by older 
and wiser heads than your own, and give up this foolish project 
altogether. Let well alone. You are happy and comfortable 
where you are. This is a nice cottage, quite large enough for 
your small family. Fine view of the sea from these front windows, 
and all ready furnished to your hand — ^nothing to find of your own 
but plate and linen ; a pump, wood-house and coal-binn, and other 
conveniences, — all under one roof. An oven — ” 

“ Stop,” cried the old lady, “ you need say nothing about that, 
Kitson. The oven is good for nothing. It has no draught ; and 
you cannot put a fire into it without filling the house with smoke.’* 

“ Pshaw !” muttered the old man. “ A little contrivance would 
soon put that to lights.” 

“ I tried my best,” retorted the wife, “ and I could never bake a 
loaf of bread in it, fit to eat.” 

We all know what bad bread you make, Mrs. Kitson,” said 
the Captain. “ I know that it can be baked in ; so hold your 


16 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


tongue, Madam! and don’t contradict me again. At any rate, 
there’s not a smoky chimney in the house, which, after all, is a less 
evil than a cross wife. The house, I say, is complete from the 
cellar to the garret. And then, the rent— why, what is it? A 
mere trifle — too cheap by one half — only twenty-five pounds per 
annum. I don’t know what possessed me, to let it so low ; and 
then, my dear, the privilege you enjoy in my beautiful flower-garden 
and lawn. There is not many lodging-houses in town could offer 
such advantages, and all for the paltry consideration of twenty- 
five pounds a-year.” 

“ The cottage is pretty, and the rent moderate. Captain,” said 
Flora. “We have no fault to find, and you have not found us 
difficult to please.” 

“ Oh, I am quite contented with my tenants ; I only want them 
to know when they are well off. Look twice before you leap once, 
that’s my maxim ; and give up this mad Canadian project, which I 
am certain will end in disappointment.” 

And with this piece of disinterested advice, away toddled our 
gallant naval commander, to finish with Kelly the arrangement of 
his pots and kettles, and superintend the right adjustment of the 
clothes-lines, and the hanging out of Mrs. Lyndsay’s clothes. 

Do not imagine, gentle reader, that this picture is over-charged. 
Captain Kitson is no creature of romance, (or was not, we should 
rather say ; for he has long since been gathered to his fathers) ; 
but a brave, uneducated man, who, during the war, had risen from 
before the mast to the rank of Post Captain. He had fought at 
Copenhagen and Trafalgar, and distinguished himself in many a 
severe contest on the main during those stirring times, and bore the 
reputation of a dashing naval officer. At the advanced age of 
eighty, he retained all his original ignorance and vulgarity ; and 
was never admitted into the society which his rank in the service 
entitled him to claim. 

The restless activity which in the vigor of manhood had rendered 
him a useful and enterprising seaman, was now displayed in the 
most ridiculous interference in his own domestic affairs, and those 
of his neighbors. With a great deal of low cunning, he mingled 
the most insatiable curiosity ; while his habits were so penurious, 
that he would stoop to any meanness to gain a trifling pecuniary 
advantage for himself or his family. 

He speculated largely in old ropes, condemned boats and sea 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


1 


tackle of all descriptions, whilst as consul for the port, he had many 
opportunities of purchasing wrecks of the sea, and the damaged 
cargoes of foreign vessels, at a cheap rate ; and not a stone was 
left untm'ned by old Kitson, if by the turning a copper could be 
secured. 

The meddling disposition of the old Captain rendered him the 
terror of all the fishermen on the coast, over whom his sway was 
despotic. He superintended and ordered all their proceedings with 
an authority as absolute as though he were still upon the deck of 
his war-ship, and they were subjected to his imperious commands. 
Not a boat could be put off, or a fiag hoisted, without he was duly 
consulted and apprised of the fact. Not a funeral could take place 
in the town, without Kitson calling upon the bereaved family, and 
offering his services on the mournful occasion, securing to himself 
by this simple manoeuvre, an abundant supply of black silk cravats 
and kid gloves. 

“ Never lose anything, my dear, for the want of asking he 
would say. “ A refusal breaks no bones, and there is always a 
chance of getting what you ask.’^ 

Acting upon this principle, he had begged favors of all the great 
men in power ; and had solicited the interest of every influential 
person who had visited the town, during the bathing season, for 
the last twenty years, on his behalf. His favorite maxim, practi- 
cally carried out, had been very successful. He had obtained, for 
the mere trouble -of asking, commissions in the army and navy for 
all his sons, and had got all his grandsons comfortably placed in 
the Greenwich or Christ Church schools. 

He had a garden, too, which was at once his torment and his 
pride. During the spring and summer months, the beds were dug 
up and remodeled, three or four times during the season, to suit 
the caprice of the owner, while the poor drooping flowers were 
ranged along the grass-plot to wither in the sun during the process, 
and 

“ Waste their sweetness on the desert air.” 

This he termed putting his borders into ship-shape. 

The flower-beds which skirted the lawn, a pretty grass plot con- 
taining about an acre of ground, surrounded by tall poplar trees, 
were regularly sown with a succession of annuals, all for the time 
being of one sort aid color. For several weeks, innumerable 
quantities of double crimson stocks flaunted before your eyes, so 


18 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


densely packed, that scarcely a shade of green relieved the brilliant 
monotony. These were succeeded by larkspurs, and lastly by pop- 
pies, that reared their tall, gorgeous heads above the low, white 
railing, and looked defiance on all beholders. 

Year after year presented the same spectacle, and pounds of 
stock, larkspur, and poppy seeds were annually saved by the 
eccentric old man to renew his floral show. 

Tom W , who was enchanted with the Captain’s oddities, 

had nick-named the marine cottage Larkspur Lodge. 


CHAPTER lY. 

A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE. 

The news of Lieutenant Lindsay’s intended emigration spread 
like wild-fire through the village, and for several days formed the 
theme of conversation. The timid shrugged their shoulders, and 
drew closer to their own cosy fire-sides, and preferred staying at 
home to tempting the dangers of a long sea-voyage. The prudent 
said, there was a possibility of success ; but it was better to take 
care of tne little you had, than run the risk of losing it while seek- 
ing for more. The worldly sneered and criticised, and turned the 
golden anticipations of the hopeful and the benevolent into ridicule, 
prophesying disappointment, ruin, and a speedy return. Lyndsay 
listened to all their remarks, endeavored to combat unreasonable 
objections, and remove preconceived prejudices; but as it was 
all labor thrown away, he determined to abide by the resolution 
he had formed, and commenced making preparations accordingly. 

Flora, who, like many of her sex, was more guided by her feel- 
ings than her reason, was terribly annoyed by the impertinent inter- 
ference of others, in what she peculiarly considered her own affairs. 
Day after day she was tormented by visitors, who came to condole 
with her on the shocking prospects before her. Some of these were 
kind, well-meaning people^ who really thought it a dreadful thing, 
to be forced, at the caprice of a husband, to leave home, and all its 
kindred joys, for a rude, uncultivated wilderness like Canada. To 
such Flora listened with patience ; for she believed tneir fears ov 
her account were genuine — their sympathies sincere. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


19 


There was only one person in the whole town whose comments 
she dreaded, and whose pretended concern she looked upon as a 
real bore — this was Mrs. Ready, the wife of a wealthy merchant, 
who was apt to consider herself the great lady of the place. 

The dreaded interview came at last. Mrs. Ready had been 
absent on a visit to London ; and the moment she heard of the 
intended emigration of the Lyndsays to Canada, she put on her 
bonnet and shawl, and rushed to the rescue'. The loud, double rat- 
tat-tat at the door, announced an arrival of more than ordinary 
consequence. 

0 sighed Flora, pushing away her desk, at which she was 
writing letters of importance, “I know that knock! — ^that dis- 
agreeable Mrs. Ready is come at last !” 

Before Mrs. Ready enters the room, I may as well explain to the 
reader what sort of an intimacy existed between Flora Lyndsay 
and Harriet Ready, and why the former had such a repugnance to 
a visit from the last^mentioned lady. 

Without the aid of animal magnetism (although we have no 
doubt that it belongs to that mysterious science) experience has 
taught us all, that there are some natures that possess certain repel- 
lant qualities, which never can be brought into afl&nity with our 
own — ^persons, whom we like or dislike at first sight, with a strong 
predilection for the one almost amounting to love, with a decided 
aversion to the other, which in some instances almost merges into 
downright hate. 

These two ladies had no attraction for each other ; they had nol 
a thought or feeling in common ; and they seldom met without a 
certain sparring, which, to the looker-on, must have betrayed 
how matters stood between them. 

But why did they meet, if such were the case ? 

It would be true wisdom in all such repellant natures to keep 
apart. Worldly prudence, and the conventional rules of society, 
compel persons to hide these secret antipathies — nay, even to pro 
sent the most smiling exterior to those whom they often least 
respect. 

The fear of making enemies, of being thought ill-natured and 
capricious, or even of making the objects of their aversion persons 
of too much consequence, by keeping them aloof, are some of the 
reasons we have heard alleged for these acts of mental cowardice. 

Mrs. Ready was a low-born woman, and Flora belonged to ? 


20 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


very old and respectable tamily. Mrs. Eeady m ished to rise a step 
higher in the social scale, and, thinking Flora might aid her 
ambitious views, she had, after the first calls of ceremony had been 
exchanged, clung to her with a pertinacity which all Mrs. Lynd- 
say’s efforts to free herself had been unable to shake off. 

Mrs. Beady was a woman of great pretensions, and had acquired 
an influence among her own set by assuming a superiority to which, 
in reality, she had not the slightest claim. She considered herself 
a beauty — a wit— a person of extraordinary genius, and possessed 
of great literary taste. The knowledge of a few botanical names 
and scientific terms, which she sported on all occasions, had con- 
ierred upon her the title of a learned woman ; while she talked with 
the greatest confidence of her acquirements. Her paintings — her 
music — her poetry, were words constantly in her mouth. A few 
wretched daubs, some miserable attempts at composition, and 
various pieces of music, played without taste, and in shocking bad 
time, constituted all her claims to literary distinction. Her confi- 
dent boasting had so imposed upon the good, credulous people 
among whom she moved, that they really believed her to be the 
talented being she pretended. 

A person of very moderate abilities can be spiteful; and Mrs. 
Eeady was so censorious, and said, when offended, such bitter things, 
that her neighbors tolerated her impertinence out of a weak fear, 
lest they might become the victims of her slanderous tongue. 

Though living in the same house with her husband, whose third 
wife she was, they had long been separated, only meeting at their 
joyless meals. Mrs. Eeady considered her husband a very stupid 
animal, and did not fail to make both him and her friends 
acquainted with her opinion. 

“ There is a fate in these things,” she observed, “ or you would 
never see a person of my superior intellect united to a creature like 
thatJ^ 

The world recognised a less important agency in the ill-starred 
union. Mrs. Eeady was poor, and had already numbered thirty 
years, when she accepted the hand of her wealthy and despised 
partner. 

Ho wonder that Flora, who almost adored her husband, and was 
a woman of simple habits and pretensions, should dislike Mrs. 
Eeady ; it would have been strange, indeed, if persons so differently 
•onstituted, could have met without antagot ism. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


21 


Mrs. Keady’s harsh, unfemiiiine voice and manners ; her assump* 
tion of learning and superiority, without any real title to either, 
were very offensive to a proud, sensitive mind, which rejected with 
disdain the patronage of such a woman. Flora had too much self- 
respect, not to say vanity, to tolerate the insolence of Mrs. Ready. 
She had met all her advances towards a closer intimacy with 
marked coldness ; which, instead of repelling, seemed only to pro- 
voke a repetition of the vulgar, forcing familiarity, from which she 
intuitively shrank. 

“ Mrs. Lyndsay,” she was wont to say, when that lady was 
absent, “ is a young person of some literary taste, and with the 
advice and assistance of a friend (herself of course) she may one day 
become an accomplished woman. 

Lyndsay was highly amused at the league, offensive and defen- 
sive, carried on by his wife and Mrs. Ready, who was the only blue 
stocking in the place ; and he was wont to call her Flora’s Mrs. 
Grundy, 

But Mrs. Grundy is already in the room, and Flora has risen to 
meet her, and proffer the usual meaningless salutations of the day. 
To these her visitor returns no answer, overwhelmed as she is with 
astonishment and grief. 

‘‘Mrs. Lyndsay!” she exclaimed, sinking into the easy chair 
placed for her accommodation, and lifting up her hands in a tragic 
ecstacy — “ Is it true — true, that you are going to leave us ? I can- 
not believe it ; it is so absurd — so ridiculous — the idea of your 
going to Canada. Do tell me that I am misinformed ; that it is 
one of old Kitson’s idle pieces of gossip ; for really I have not been 
well since I heard it.” 

Mrs. Ready paused for breath, and applied her handkerchief to 
her eyes. 

Flora remained silent and embarrassed. What could she say ? 
She placed no confidence in the grief of the weeping lady, and 
despised the affectation of her tears — ^till she gasped forth — 

“ Do not leave me in suspense ; I would rather hear the truth at 
once. Are you really going to Canada ?” 

“ I believe so. That is, if ic d untoward circumstance arise to 
prevent it.” 

“ Good heavens 1 And you can regard such a dreadful event with 
such stoical indifference? Why does not your mother exert her 
authority, to make you give up such a mad project ?” 


22 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


My mother would never interfere with my husband^s wishes, 
particularly when she considers them reasonable, and knows that 
no real objections can be offered on the subject.” 

“ But think of the dreadful sacrifice I” 

Such sacrifices are made every day. Emigration, Mrs. Ready, 
is a matter of necessity, not of choice. Mr. Lyndsay thinks it 
necessary for us to take this step, and I have no doubt that 
he is right. Did I consult my own feelings, I should certainly pre- 
fer staying at home.” 

“ Of course you would, and you affect this unconcern on purpose 
to hide an aching heart. My dear, you cannot deceive me ; I see 
through it all. I pity you, my sweet friend ; I sympathise with 
you, from my very soul ; I know what your real feelings are ; I 
can realize it all.” 

Flora remained silent. She certainly did wish that Mrs. Ready 
occupied any other place in the United Kingdom, at that moment, 
than the comfortable seat in her easy chair. But what could she 
do ? She could not inform the lady that she was tired of her com- 
pany, and wished to be alone. That would be considered an act 
of ill-breeding of the most flagrant description ; in common cour- 
tesy she was compelled to act a lie. 

Rather irritated at the small impression her eloquence had made 
upon her companion, Mrs. Ready removed the cambric screen from 
her face, on which not a trace of grief could be found, and clasping 
her hands vehemently together, continued — 

“Your husband is mad, to draw you away from all your friends 
at a moment’s warning ! I would remonstrate — I would not go ; I 
would exert a proper spirit, and force him to abandon this Quix- 
otic expedition.’ ’ 

“You speak hastily, Mrs. Ready. Why should I attempt to 
prevent an undertaking in which I most cordially concur, and 
which Mr. Lyndsay thinks would greatly benefit his family ?” 

“Nonsense! I hate, I repudiate such passive obedience, as 
beneath the dignity of woman ! I am none of your soft bread-and- 
butter wives, who consider it their duty to become the mere echo of 
their husbands. If I did not wish to go, no tyrannical lord of the 
creation, falsely so called, should compel me to act against my incli- 
nations.” 

“ Compulsion is not necessary : on this subject we both agree. 

“Oh, yes, I see how it is !” with a contemptuous curl of the lip, 


FliORA LYNDSAY. 


you aspire to the character of a good, dutiful wife, — ^to become 
an example of enduring patience to all the refractory conjugals in 
the place, myself among the rest. I understand it all. How 
amiable some people can be at the expense of others !” 

Flora was thunderstruck. ‘‘ Indeed, Mrs. Eeady, I meant no 
reflection upon you. My words had no personal meaning ; I never 
talk at any one.” 

Oh, certainly not I You are not aware,” with a strong sneer, 
‘‘of the differences that exist between Mr. Ready and me (and 
which will continue to exist, as long as mind claims a superiority 
over matter) ; that we are only husband and wife in name. But I 
forgive you.” 

“You have nothing to forgive, Mrs. Ready,” said Flora, indig- 
nantly ; “ I never trouble my head with your private afiairs — they 
cannot possibly concern me.” 

This gave rise to a scene. Mrs. Ready, who lived in an element 
of strife, delighted in scenes. 

“ Oh, no,” she continued, eagerly clutching at Flora’s last words, 
“ you are too selfishly engrossed with your own happiness to have 
the least sympathy for the sorrows of a friend. Ah, well ! — It’s 
early days with you yet! Let a few short years of domestic care 
pass over your head, and all this honey will be changed to gall. 
Matrimony is matrimony, and husbands are husbands, and wives 
will strive to have their own way — ay, and will fight to get it, too. 
You will then find, Mrs. Lyndsay, that very little of the sugar of 
love, and all such romantic stuff, remains to sweeten your cup ; and 
hr. the bitterness of your soul, you will think of me.” 

“ If this is true,” said Flora, “ who would marry ?” 

“ It is true in my case.” 

“ But fortunately there are exceptions to every rule.” 

“ Humph 1 — This is another compliment, Mrs. Lyndsay, at my 
expense.” 

“Mrs. Ready, I do not wish to quarrel with you ; but you seem 
determined to take all my words amiss.” 

A long silence ensued, — Mrs. Ready smoothed down her rufiied 
plumes, and said, in a pitying, patronising tone, very common to 
her — 

“You will be disgusted with Canada : we shall see you back in 
less than twelve months.” 

“ Not very likely, if I know anything of John and myself.* 


24 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


What will you do for society?” 

Flora thought solitude would be a luxury and Mrs. Ready away 
— and she answered, carelessly, “We must be content with what 
Providence sends us.” 

“ Ah ! but you may be miles from any habitation. No church 
— no schools for the children— no markets — no medical attendant 
— and with your poor health — ^think of that, Mrs. Lyndsay 1 And 
worse, far worse, no friends to sympathise and condole with you, in 
distress and difficulty.” 

Now Flora was answering all these objections in her own mind ; 
and, quite forgetful of Mrs. Ready’s presenee, she unconsciously 
uttered her thoughts aloud — “ These may be evils, but we shall at 
least be spared the annoyance of disagreeable visitors.” 

Imprudent Flora — to think aloud before such a woman as Mrs. 
Ready. Who will venture to excuse such an eccentric proceeding? 
Would not the whole world blame you for your incorrigible blun- 
der? It had, however, one good effect. It quickly cleared the 
room of your intrusive guest, who sw^pt out of the apartment with 
a haughty “ Good morning.” And well she might be offended ; 
she had accidentally heard the truth, which no one else in the town 
dared have spoken boldly outw 

Flora was astonished at her want of caution. She knew, how- 
ever, that it was useless to apologise ; and she felt perfectly indif- 
ferent as to the result ; for she did not care if she never saw Mrs. 
Ready again ; and such a decided affront would render that event 
more than doubtful. 

“ Thank heaven I ffie is gone,” burst heartily from her lips, when 
she found herself once more alone. 

It was impossible for Mrs. Lyndsay to contemplate leaving Eng- 
land without great pain. The subject was so distressing to her 
feelings, that she endeavored to forget dt as much as she could. 
The manner in which it had been forced upon her by Mrs. Ready, 
was like probing a deep wound with a jagged instrument ; and 
after that lady’s departure, she covered her face with her handS; 
and wept long and bitterly. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


25 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE TRUE FRIEND* 

Flora Lindsay was aroused from the passionate indulgence of 
grief by two arms being passed softly around her neck, and some 
one pulling her head gently back upon their shoulder, and kissing 
her forehead. 

“ Flora,” whispered a sweet, gentle woman’s voice ; Dear 
Flora. I am come home at last. What, no word of welcome ? 
No kiss for Mary ? In tears, too. What is the matter ? Are 
you ill? Is the baby ill? No — she at least is sleeping sweetly, 
and looks full of rosy health. Do speak, and tell me the meaning 
of all this !” 

Flora was in the arms of her friend before she had ceased speak- 
ing. “A thousand welcomes! dear Mary. You are the very 
person I most wished just now to see. The very sight of you is an 
antidote to grief : ‘ A remedy for sore eyes,’ as the Irish say. You 
have been too long away. When did you arrive?” 

By the mail — about an hour ago.” 

“ And your dear sister — ?” 

Is gone to a happier home,” said Mary Parnell, in a faltering 
voice ; and glancing down at her black dress, she continued, “ she 
died happy — so happy, dear Flora, and now — she is happier still. 
But, we will not speak of her just now. Flora ; I cannot bear it. 
Time, which reconciles us to every change, will teach me resignation 
to the Divine will. But ah ! ’tis a sore trial to part with the 
cherished friend and companion of our early years. We were most 
attached sisters. Our hearts were one — and now — ” 

There was a pause. Both friends wept. Mary first regained 
her composure. 

‘‘ How is Lyndsay ? Has he finished writing his book ?” 

‘‘ The book is finished, and accepted by Mr. Bentley.” 

“That is good, excellent news; and the darling baby 1” 

“Little Dormouse. There she lies at the end of the sofa, 
covered by my shawl. She has been sleeping every since break- 
fast. I think she only wakes up to amuse papa. But she is 
beginning to stretch herself, and here comes the head-nurse himself.” 

2 


26 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Our dear Mary, returned !” cried Lyndsay, entering the room. 
‘‘ It seems an age since you left us/’ 

‘‘ It has been a melancholy separation to me,” said Mary. “ This 
parting I hope will be the last. My father has consented to come 
and live with my brother ; and now that dear Emily is gone, I 
shall have no inducement to leave home, so you will have me all 
to yourselves, whenever I can steal an hour from my domestic 
duties ; and we shall once more be so happy together.” 

Lyndsay looked at Flora, but neither spoke. Mary saw in a 
moment that there was some hidden meaning in that quick, intel- 
ligent glance ; and she turned anxiously from one to the other. 

“ What mischief have you been plotting, during my absence ?” 
cried the affectionate girl, taking a hand of each. “ Some mystery 
is here — I read it in your eyes. I come to you striving to drown 
the remembrance of my own heavy sorrow, that we might enjoy a 
happy meeting : I find Flora in tears, and you Lyndsay looking 
grave and melancholy. What does it all mean ?” 

Has not Flora told you ?” 

“ Told me what?” 

‘‘ That we are about to start for Canada.” 

“ Alas ! no. This is sad news, — worse than I expected. But 
are you really determined upon going ?” 

Our preparations are almost completed.” 

“ Worse and worse. I hoped it might be only the whim of the 
moment — a castle, not of the air, but of the woods — and as easily 
demolished.” 

Let us draw back,” said Flora. “ Lyndsay, dearest ; the trial 
is too great.” 

It is too late now, Flora. Depend upon it love, that God has 
ordered it, and that we act in conformity to the Divine will, and 
that all is for the best.” 

“ If such is your belief, my dear friend,” said Miss Parnell, ‘‘ far 
be it from me to persuade you to stay. God orders all things for 
good. The present moment is the prophet of the future. It must 
decide your fate.” 

“ I have not acted hastily in this matter,” returned Lyndsay. 
“ I have pondered over it long and anxiously, and I feel that my 
decision is right. The grief poor Flora feels at parting with her 
friends, is the greatest drawback. I thought that she possessed 
more strength of endurance. As for me, I have passed through the 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ordeal before, when I left Scotland for the Cape of Good Hope ‘ 
and I now look upon* myself as a citizen of the world. I know that 
Flora will submit cheerfully to the change, when once we lose sight 
of the British shores.” 

“ This then was the cause of Flora’s tears ?” 

Not exactly,” said Flora, laughing. “ That odious Mrs 
Ready has been here, tormenting me with impertinent questions.” 

“ Flora, I’m ashamed of you,” said Lyndsay, “ for suffering your- 
gelf to be annoyed by that stupid woman.” 

“And worse than that, dear John, I got into a passion, and 
affronted her.” 

“ And what did Mrs, Grundy say ?” 

“ Ah 1 it’s fine fun for you. But if you had been baited by her 
for a couple of hours, as I was, you could not have stood it much 
better than I did. Why, she had the impudence to insist upon my 
acting in direct opposition to your wishes ; and all but insinuated 
that I was a fool not to take her advice.” 

“ A very serious offence, indeed,” said Lyndsay, laughing. “ In- 
stigating my wife to an act of open rebellion. But I am sure you 
will not profit by her example.” 

“ Indeed, no ! She’s the very last woman in the world I should 
wish to imitate. Still I feel angry with myself for letting my 
temper get the better of prudence.” 

“ What a pity. Flora, that you did not fight it out. I would 
back my good wife against twenty Mrs. Grundys.” 

“ She would scratch my eyes out, and then write a horrid sonnet 
to celebrate the catastrophe.” 

“ Nobody would read it.” 

“ Ah, but she would read it tc everybody, and bore the whole 
town with her lamentations.” 

“ Let her go. Flora. I am tired of Mrs. Grundy.'” 

“ Indeed, I was glad enough tc get rid of her, which reconciles 
me to the disagreeable manner in which I offended her.” 

“ Let us talk of your Canadian plans,” said Mary. “ When do 
you go ?” 

“ In three weeks,” said Lyndsay. 

“ So soon 1 The time is too short to prepare one to part with 
friends so dear. If it were not for my poor old father, I would go 
with you.” 

“ What a blessing it would be !” said Lyndsay. 


28 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ Oh ! do go, dear Mary,” cried Flora, quite transported at the 
thought, and flinging her arms about her friend’s neck. “It 
would make us so happy.” 

“ It is impossible !” said the dear Mary, with a sigh. “ I spoke 
without thinking. My heart will follow you across the Atlantic ; 
but duty keeps me here. I will not, however, waste the time still 
left to us in useless regrets. Love is better shown by deeds than 
words. I can work for you, and cheer you, during the last days 
of your sojourn in your native land. Employment, I have always 
found, by my own experience, is the best remedy for aching 
hearts.” 


CHAPTER YI. 

FLORALS OUTFIT. 

Having once matured his plans, Lyndsay hastened to take the 
necessary steps to carry them into execution. Leaving Flora and 
her friend Mary to prepare all the indispensables for the voyage, he 
hurried to London, to obtain permission from head-quarters to set- 
tle in Canada — to arrange pecuniary matters for their voyage, and 
take leave of a few old and tried friends. During his absence, 
Flora and her friend were not idle. The mornings were devoted 
to making purchases, and the evenings to convert them into articles 
for domestic use. There were so many towels to hem, sheets to 
make, and handkerchiefs and stockings to mark, that Flora saw no 
end to the work, although assisted by kind sisters, and the indefati- 
gable Mary. 

The two friends held a grand consultation over Flora’s scanty 
wardrobe, in which there were articles “ old and new but it must 
oe confessed that the old and the unfashionable predominated over 
the new and well-cut. Flora’s friends were poor, and she had been 
obliged to dispense with a wedding outfit. An old and very rich 
relation of her father, had presented her with a very elegant wed- 
ding-dress, shawl, and bonnet, which was all the finery Flora pos- 
sessed. Her other dresses were very plain, and composed of com- 
mon materials ; and if it had not been for the unexpected bounty 
of the said rich lady, our bride must have done without a wedding- 
garment at all ; for she had earned the few common necessaries she 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


29 


took with her to housekeeping with her own hand, in painting 
trifles for the bazaars, and writing articles for ladies’ magazines. 
One small trunk contained Flora’s worldly goods and chattels, the 
night she entered the neatly-furnished lodgings which Lyndsay had 
prepared for her as his wife. 

Flora felt almost ashamed of the little she possessed ; but her 
high-minded, generous husband, took her penniless as she was, and 
laughingly assured her that they could never quarrel on the score of 
riches ; for his wardrobe was nearly as scanty as her own ; and, 
beyond a great chest of books and music, he had nothing in the 
world but his half-pay. Many a long afternoon Flora spent during 
her quiet honeymoon (for the month was April, and the weather 
very wet,) in looking over shirts and socks, and putting them into 
the best habitable repair. She was thus employed, when an author 
of some distinction called upon them, to enjoy half-an-hours’ chat. 
Flora hid up her work as fast as she could ; but in her hurry, unfor- 
tunately, upset her work-basket on the floor, and all the objection- 
able garments tumbled out at her guest’s feet. 

He was young, unmarried and a poet ; and this certainly was 
not a poetical incident. Mrs. Lyndsay,” he cried, in a tragic hor- 
ror, (it would have been more in good taste to have said nothing 
about it,) “ are you forced to devote your valuable time to mending 
old socks and shirts?” 

“ They were meant for my private hours,” said Flora, laughing, 
as she collected the fallen articles, and stowed them once more into 
their hiding-place. “ With such the public has nothing to do.” 

“ Well, if ever I marry. I’ll take good care to give away every 
old thing I have in the world. No wife of mine shall have it to 
say that she was forced to mend my rags.” 

“ Wait till the time comes,” said Flora, quietly. “You don’t 
know what may happen yet. There are more disagreeable things 
in every-day life than mending old clothes. Industry and perseve- 
rence may soon replace these with new ones ; but it is useless to 
throw away old friends until we are sure of obtaining others as 
good.” 

Flora had often thought of this scene, and in her overflowing 
happiness had blessed God that she had been permitted to share 
Lyndsay’s poverty. Mending the old clothes had become a privi- 
lege. 

Thirty pounds was all that she could now afford tc lay out upon 


30 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


herself and her little one — a small sum, indeed, to the rich, who would 
have expended as much in a single article of dress, but very large 
in her estimation, whose wants had always been regulated more by 
the wants of others than her own. 

Ignorant of the nature of the colony to which she was about to 
emigrate, and of the manners and customs of the people among 
whom she was to find a new home, and of whom she had formed the 
most laughable and erroneous notions, many of her purchases were 
not only useless, but ridiculous. Things were overlooked, which 
would have been of the greatest service ; while others could have 
been procured in the colony for less than the expense of transporta- 
tion. 

Twenty years ago, the idea of anything decent being required in 
a barbarous desert, such as the woods of Canada, was repudiated as 
nonsense. 

This reminds one of a gentleman who sent his son, a wild, extrav- 
agant, young fellow, with whom he could do nothing at home, to 
grow tame, and settle down into a quiet farmer in the Backwoods. 
The experiment proved, as it always does in such cases, a perfect 
failure. All parental restraint being removed, the young man ran 
wild altogether, and used his freedom as fresh occasion for licentious- 
ness. The prudent father then wrote out to the gentleman to whose 
care the son had been consigned, that he had better buy him a wild 
farm, and a negro and his wife to keep house for him. 

This, too, after the passing of the Anti-Slavery bill ! But, even 
if slaves had been allowed in the colony, the horror of color is as 
great among the native-born Canadians, as it is in the United 
States So much did this otherwise clever man know of the colony 
to which he sent his unmanageable son ! 

Flora had been led to imagine that settlers in the Backwoods 
lived twenty or thirty miles apart, and subsisted upon game and 
Bie wild fruits of the country until their own lands were brought 
into a state of cultivation. Common sense and reflection would 
have pointed this out as impossible ; but common sense is very rare, 
and the majority of persons seldom take the trouble to think. We 
have known many persons just as wise as Flora in this respect. It 
is a fact, however, that Flora believed these reports, and fancied 
that her lot would be cast in one of those remote settlements, where 
no sounds of human life were to meet her ears, and the ringing of 
her husband’s axe alone awake the echoes of the forest. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


81 


She had yet to learn that the proximity of fellow-laborers m the 
great work of c'.earing is indispensable ; that man cannot work 
alone in the wilderness, where his best efforts require the aid of his 
fellow-men. 

The oft-repeated assertion, that anything would do for Canada^ 
was the cause of more blunders in the choice of ac Outfit, than the 
most exaggerated statements in its praise. 

Of the fine towns and villages, and the well-dressed population of 
the improved districts of the Upper Province, she had not formed 
the slightest conception. To her fancy, it was a vast region of 
cheerless forests, inhabited by unreclaimed savages, or rude settlers 
doomed to perpetual toil — a climate of stern vicissitudes, alternating 
between intense heat and freezing cold, and which presented at all 
seasons a gloomy picture. No land iff Goshen, no paradise of 
fruits and flowers, rose in the distance \ a console her for the sacri- 
fice she was about to make. The idod was far worse than the 
reality. 

Guided by these false impressions, she oiade choice of articles of 
dress too good for domestic drudgery, not fine enough to sui 
the rank to which she belonged. In lais case, extremes would 
have suited her better than a middle course. 

Though fine clothes in the Backwoods may be regarded as use- 
less lumber, and warm stufls for winter, and good washing calicoes 
for summer, are more to be prized than silks and satins, wMch a 
few days’ exposure to the rough flooring of a log-cabin would effect- 
ually destroy ; yet it is absolutely necessary to be well-dressed 
when visiting the large towns, where the wealthier classes not only 
dress well, but expensively. 

In a country destitute of an hereditary aristocracy, and where 
the poorest emigrant, by industry and prudence, may rise to wealth 
and political importance, the appearance which individuals make, 
and the style in which they live, determine their claims to superi- 
ority with the publio, chiefly composed of the same elements with 
themselves. The aristocracy of England may be divided into three 
distinct classes, — that of family, of wealth, and of talent, — all 
powerful in their order. The one which ranks the last should hold 
its place with the first, for it originally produced it ; and the second, 
which is far inferior to the last, is likewise able to buy the first. 
The heads of old families are more tolerant to the great men of 
genius than they arc to the accumulators of riches ; and a wide 


32 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


distinction is made by them between the purse-proud millionaire 
and the poor man of genius, whose refined tastes and feelings are 
more in unison with their own. 

In Canada, the man of wealth has it all his own way ; his dollars 
are irresistible, and the money makes the man. Fine clothes are 
there supposed to express the wealth of the possessor ; and a lady’s 
gown determines her right to the title, which, after all, presents 
the lowest claims to gentility. A runaway thief may wear a fash- 
ionably-cut coat, and a well-paid domestic flaunt in silks and satins. 

Now, Flora knew knothing of all this ; and she committed a 
great error in choosing neat and respectable every-day clothing. 
The handsome, and the very ordinary, would have answered her 
purpose much better. 

If “necessity is the mother of invention,” experience is the hand- 
maid of wisdom, and her garments fit well. Flora was as yet a 
novice to the world and its ways. She had much to learn from a 
stern and faithful preceptress, in a cold, calculating school. 


CHAPTER YII. 

HOW MISS WILHELMINA CARR AND FLORA BECAME ACQUAINTED. 

Among the many persons who called upon Flora to talk over 
her projected emigration was a Miss Wilhelmina Carr — a being so 
odd, so wayward, so unlike the common run of mortals, that we 
must endeavor to give a slight sketch of her to our readers. We 
do not possess sulBficient artistic skill to do Miss Wilhelmina justice ; 
for if she had not actually lived and walked the earth, and if we 
had not seen her with our own eyes, and heard her with our own 
ears, we should have considered her a very improbable, if not an 
impossible, variety of the human species feminine. We have met 
with many absurd people in our journey through life, but a more 
eccentric individual never before nor since has come under our 
immediate observation. 

Flora’s means were far too limited for her to entertain company. 
Her visitors were confined entirely to her own family, and a few 
old and chosen friends, with whom she had been intimate from 
diildhood. How, then, did she become acquainted with this lady? 
Oddly enough ; for everything connectoi with Miss Carr was odd, 
and out of t^ e common way. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


33 


There was a mystery, too, about Miss Carr, which had kept the 
gossips busy for the last four months ; and clever and prying as 
they were — quite models in their way — not one of them had been 
able to come at the solution of the riddle. 

One hot day, during the preceding summer, Miss Wilhelmina 
walked into the town, wearing a man’s broad-brimmed straw hat, 
and carrying a cane in her hand, with a very small dog trotting at 
her heels. She inquired at the first hotel in the town for lodgings, 
aiid hired two very handsome apartments of Mrs. Turner, who kept 
very respectable lodgings, and was patronised by the best families 
in the neighborhood. Miss Wilhelmina paid three months’ rent 
in advance ; she brought no servant, and was to find her own table, 
engaging Mrs. Turner to cook and wait upon her. 

Some days after her arrival, two large travelling trunks, and 
several well-filled hampers full of wine of the best quality, were 
forwarded to her direction, and Miss Carr became one of the lions 
of the little watering place. 

Who she was, or from what quarter of the world she emanated, 
Aobody could find out. She had evidently plenty of money at her 
command, lived as she liked, and did what she pleased, and seemed 
perfectly indifferent as to what others thought of her. 

Her eccentric appearance attracted general attention, for she 
was no recluse, and spent most of her time in the open air. If 
your walk lay along the beach, the common, or the dusty high- 
road, you were sure to meet Miss Carr and her dog at every turn. 

The excitement regarding her was so great, that most of the 
ladies called upon her in the hope of gratifying their curiosity, and 
learning something about her from her own lips. In this they 
were quite disappointed ; for Miss Wilhelmina Carr, though she 
was sitting at the window nursing her dog, did not choose to be at 
nome to any one, and never had the courtesy to return these cere- 
monious visits. An old practised propagator of news waylaid Mrs. 
Turner in the street, and cross-questioned her in the most dexter- 
ous manner concerning her mysterious lodger ; but the good 
woman was either seized with a fit of unusual prudence, or, like 
Horace Smith’s mummy — 

“ Was sworn to secresy.’^ 

There was no getting anything out of her beyond the astounding 
facts, that Miss Carr smoked out of a long pipe, drank brandy* 

2 * 


34 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


punch, and had her table served with all the d unties of the season. 
“ Besides all this,” whispered the cautious Mrs. Turner, “ she 
swears like a man.” NThis last piece of information might be a 
scandal ; the ladies hoped it was, but believed and talked about it 
as a shocking thing, if true, to all their acquaintance ; and con- 
gratulated themselves that the dreadful woman had shown her wis- 
dom in not returning the visits of respectable people. 

The person about whom all this fuss was made, was a tall and 
very stout woman of fifty years of age ; but active and energetic- 
looking for her time of life. Her appearance was eccentric enough 
to afford ample scope for all the odd sayings and doings in circula- 
tion respecting her. She had a satirical, laughing, jolly red face, 
with very obtuse features ; and, in order, to conceal hair of a 
decidedly carroty hue, she wore an elaborately-curled flaxen wig, 
which nearly covered her large forehead, and hung over her eyes 
like the curly coat of a French poodle dog. This was so carelessly 
adjusted, that the red and flaxen formed a curious shading round 
her face, as their tendrils mingled and twined within each other. 
Her countenance, even in youth, must have been coarse and vulgar ; 
in middle life, it was masculine and decidedly ugly, with no redeem- 
ing feature but the large, good-natured mouth, well set with bril- 
liantly white teeth — strong, square, even teeth, that seem to. express 
their owner’s love of good cheer ; and silently intimated, that they 
had no light duty to perform, and were made expressly for eating. 

Miss Carr, though she sported a man’s hat and carried a cane, 
dressed expensively, her outer garments being made of the richest 
materials ; but she wore these so ridiculously short, that her petti- 
coats barely reached below the middle of her legs — leaving exposed 
to general observation the only beauty she possessed — a remarkably 
handsome and neatly-made foot and ankle. 

Now, we don’t believe that Miss Carr cared a fig abo^^-* >.r 
handsome legs and feet. If they had belonged to the regular M^’l- 
lingar breed, she would have shown them as freely to all the world ; 
simply, because she chose to do so. She was a great pedestrian, to 
whom long petticoats would have been uncomfortable and inconve- 
nient. 

If she was vain of anything, it was her powers of locomotion. 
She had made the tour of Europe on foot and alone, and still con- 
tinued to walk her ten or fourteen miles a day, let the weather be 
what it would. ’ Hail, rain, blow, or snow, it was all one to Mis.s 


FLDRA LYNDSAY. 


35 


Carr. “ She was walking,” she said, “ to keep herself in practice, 
as she was contemplating another long journey on foot.” 

Ida Pfeiffer, the celebrated female traveller, was unknown in 
those days ; or Miss Carr might have taken the shine out of that 
adventurous lady ; as easily as the said Ida destroys all the ro- 
mantic notions previously entertained by stay-at-home travellers, 
about the lands she visits, and the people who form the subjects of 
her entertaining matter-of-fact books. 

When Miss Carr made her debut at church, with her masculine 
hat placed resolutely on the top of her head, and cane in hand, 
people could not say their prayers, or attend to the sermon, for 
staring and wondering at the uncouth apparition which had so 
unceremoniously appeared in the midst of them. This was not 
diminished, by her choosing to stand during those portions of the 
service, when pious females bend the knee. Miss W elhelmina said, 
“ that she was too big to kneel — ^that her prayers were just as good 
in one attitude as another. The soul had no legs or knees, that she 
could discover — and if the prayers did not come from the heart, 
they were of no use to her, or to any one else. She had not much 
faith in prayers of any kind. She never could find out that they 
had done her the least good, and if she had to go through a useless 
ceremony, she would do it in the most convenient manner.” 

Flora had heard so much about this strange woman, that she 
had not called upon her on her first arrival in the town ; though it 
must be confessed, that her curiosity was as much excited as her 
neighbors. In her walks to and fro from her mother’s house, who 
resided within a short distance of the town. Flora had aften en- 
countered the sturdy pedestrian stumping along at full speed, and 
she had laughed heartily with her husband at her odd appearance ; 
at her short petticoats, and the resolute manner in which she swung 
her cane, and planted it down upon the ground. She had often 
wondered how such an elephant of a woman could move so rapidly 
upon such small feet, which looked as if she had lost her own, and 
borrowed a pair of some child by the way. 

She was always followed in all her rambles by a diminutive non- 
descript kind of dog — a tiny, long-haired, silky-looking creature, 
the color of cofiee freshly-ground, no bigger than a large squirrel, 
with brilliant black eyes, bushy tail, and a pert little face, which 
greatly resembled that animal. 

Often, when moving at full speed along the dusty highway, its 


36 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


mistress would suddenly stop, vociferating at the top of her voice:— 
'‘Muff! Muff! where are you, my incomparable Muff?” when the 
queer pet would bound up her dress like a cat, and settle itself 
down upon her arm, poking its black nose into her hand, or rear 
up on its hind legs, to lick her face. They were an odd pair, so 
unlike, so widely disproportioned in size and motion, that Flora 
delighted in watching all their movements, and in drawing contrasts 
between the big woman and her small four-footed companion. 

By some strange freak of fancy, Lyndsay and his wife had at- 
tracted the attention of Miss Carr, who never passed them in her 
long rambles without bestowing upon them a gracious bow and a 
smile, which displayed, at one gesture, all her glittering store of 
large white teeth. 

“ I do believe, John, the strange woman means to pick acquaint- 
ance with us,” said Flora to her husband, one fine afternoon dur- 
ing the previous summer, as they were on their way to spend the 

evening with her mother at Hall. “ Instead of passing us at 

her usual brisk trot, she has loitered at our pace for the last half- 
hour, smiling at us, and showing her white teeth, as if she were 
contemplating the possibility of an introduction. I wish she would 
break the ice, for I am dying with curiosity to know something 
about her.” 

“You are very foolish,” said Lyndsay, who was not one of Miss 
Carr’s admirers, “to trouble your head about her. These eccentric 
people are often great bores ; and. if you get acquainted with them, 
it is not easy to shake them off. She may be a very improper 
character. I hate mystery in any shape.” 

“ 0, bless you !” said Flora, laughing, “she is too old and ugly 
for scandal of that sort. I should think, from her appearance, that 
she never had had a sweetheart in her life.” 

“ There’s no telling,” returned Lyndsay. “ She may be lively 
and witty. Odd people possess an attraction in themselves. We 
are so much amused with them, that they fascinate us before we are 
aware. She has a good figure for her voluminous proportions, and 
splendid trotters, which always possess charms for some men.” 

“ Mow, don’t be censorious, husband dear. If she should speak 
to us — what then?” 

“Answer her civilly, of course.” 

“And if she should take it into her head to call upon us?” 

“ Eeturn it and let the acquaintance drop.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


37 


Flora’s love of the ridiculous was her besetting sin. She con- 
tinued to watch the movements of Miss Carr with mischievous 
interest, and was as anxious for an interview as Lyndsay was that 
she would keep her distance. Flora pressed her hand tightly on 
her husband’s arm, scarcely able to keep her delight in due bounds, 
while she whispered, in a triumphant aside, “John, I was right. 
She is shaping her course to our side of the road. She means to 
speak to us, — and now for itl” 

Lyndsay looked annoyed. Flora with difficulty repressed her 
inclination to laugh out, as Miss Carr came alongside, and verified 
Mrs. Lyndsay’s prediction, by commencing the conversation in a 
loud-toned, but rather musical voice — 

“ A bright afternoon for your walk.” 

“ Beautiful for the time of year,” said Flora. 

“ Rather hot for stout people like me. You seem to enjoy it 
amazingly.” 

“ I am fond of walking. I do not find the heat oppressive.” 

“ Ah, yes ; you are thin. Have not much bulk to carry ; one 
of Pharaoh’s lean kine. It requires a warm day to make your 
blood circulate freely. I like winter and spring best for long 
rambles.” 

“I should think you would prefer riding,” said Lyndsay ; “yet 
I see you out every day on foot.” 

“I never ride: I hate and detest riding. I never could be 
dependent upon the motions of an animal. Horses are my aver- 
sion ; jackasses I despise. God, when He gave us legs of our own, 
doubtless intended us to make use of them. I have used mine ever 
since I was a bany, and they are not worn out yet. I got upon my 
feet sooner than most children, and have kept them to their duty 
ever since. I am a great walker ; I have been walking all my life. 
Do you know that I have walked over Europe, alone and on foot ?” 

“ So I have heard,” said Lyndsay. “ It must have been an ardu- 
ous undertaking for a lady.” 

“ Far easier than you imagine. Women are just as able to shift 
for themselves as men, if they would follow my example, and make 
the trial. I have scarcely sat still for the last twenty years. There 
is not a remarkable spot in Europe that I have not visited, or 
mountain but what I have climbed, or cavern that I have left unex- 
plored. Three years ago I commenced a pedestrian tour through 
Great Britain, which I accomplished greatly to my own satisfaction. 


38 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


When I take a fancy to a place, I stay in it until I h&ve explored 
all the walks in the neighborhood. Directly I grow tired, I am 
off. ’Tis a happy, independent sort of life I lead. Confinement 
would soon kill me.” 

“ Your friends must feel very anxious about you,” said Flora, 

during your absence.” 

“ Friends ! Fiddlesticks ! Who told you I had any friends who 
care a fig for me or my movements ? I am gloriously independent, 
and mean to remain so. There is but one person in the world who 
is related to me in the most remote degree, or who dares to trouble 
their head about me or my doings, and he is only a half-brother. 
He has opposed himself against my freedom of thought and action ; 
but I don’t care that” — (snapping her fingers vigorously) — “ for 
him or his opinions. He has made war upon my roaming propen- 
sities all his life. As if a woman has not as much right to see the 
world as a man, if she can pay her own expenses, and bear her own 
burthen, without being a trouble to any one. It is certainly no 
business of his how I spend my money, or where and how I pass 
my life. Not long ago I heard that he was going to issue a writ 
of lunacy against me, in order to get me and my property into his 
possession. This is mean ; for he very well knows that I am not 
mad ; and he is very rich, so that there is no excuse for his ava- 
rice. Fortunately, he don’t know me personally — never saw me 
since I was a child — and as I never go by my real name, it is not 
a very easy matter for him to discover me. I don’t like this place, 
but it is quiet and out of the way. I think I shall remain where 
I am, till he gets tired of hunting me out. I trust to your honor, 
young people ; so you must not betray my secret.” 

Both promised to say nothing about what she had so frankly 
communicated. 

“ I take you at your word,” continued Miss Carr ; “ I like your 
appearance, and would willingly improve my acquaintance, i 
often watched you from my windows ; and yesterday I asked Mrs. 
Turner who you were. Her account was so much in your favor, 
that I determined to introduce myself the first time we accidentally 
encountered each other. I know' your names and where you live. 
May I come and occasionally enjoy an hour’s chat?” 

“We shall only be too happy,” said Flora, in spite of a warning 
pinch from Lyndsay, which said as plainly as words could have 
done. “ 'ihe’s mad : as mad as a March hare.” But Flora would 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


39 


not understand the hint. She felt flattered by the confidence so 
unexpectedly reposed in them by the odd creature ; and vanity is a 
great enemy to common sense. 

“ Mind,” said Miss Wilhelmina, turning abruptljr to Lyndsay, 
“ I don’t want to see you at my house. I’m a single woman, and, 
though not very young, I’m very particular about my character. 
I never allow a male creature to enter my doors. I’m not fond of 
men — 1 have no reason to be fond of them. They never were 
commonly civil to me ; and I hate them generally and individually. 
When I come to see your wife, of course I don’t expect you to hide 
out of the way, or peep at me through crannies, as if I were a wild 
beast. I shall call to-morrow morning, and so, good day.” 

Muff ! Muff ! — My incomparable ! my perfect ! What are you 
doing ? Frisking beside that ugly black cur ! He’s no companion 
for a dog of your breeding and degree. Away, you vulgar-looking 
brute !’' And running across the road, she seized hold of the ped- 
lar’s dog, who was having a great game of romps with her favorite, 
and gave it a most unjust and unmerciful belaboring with her cane. 

The pedlar, who was by no means pleased with this outrage 
against his cur, now interfered. 

“ Don’t lick my dorrg, ma’am, in that ere sort o’ fashun. What 
harm can that hanimal ha’ done to you, or that whiskered, cat-like 
thing o’ yourn?’* 

Hold your impertinent tongue, fellow I or I’ll thrash you, too,” 
cried Miss Wilhelmina, flourishing aloft her cane. 

The man eyed her sullenly. “ Maybe, you’d beest not try. If 
you warn’t a ’uman, I’d give it to ’un.” 

‘ A lady, sir,” with great dignity, and drawing herself up to her 
full height. 

“Ladies don’t act in that ere way. You be but a ’uman, and a 
mad yun, too ; that be what you be’s.” 

The next moment Lyndsay expected the cane to descend upon the 
pedlar’s head, and was ready to rush to the rescue of the fair Wil- 
helmina. But no ; the lady dropped her cane, burst into a loud flt 
of laughter, stooped down, patted the offended cur, and, slipping a 
shilling into the hand of the angry countryman, snatched Muff to 
her capacious bosom, and walked off at full trot. 

The pedlar, looking after her for a minute, with his eyes and mouth 
wide open in blank astonishment, and then down at the silver glit- 
tering in his hand, cried out — 


40 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ I knows you bees a lady, now. If you delights in licking o* 
dorrgs, ma’am, you ma’ thrash Bull as much as you please for six- 
pence a licking. That’s fair, I thinks.” 

He might as well have shouted to the winds ; Miss Wilhelmina 
was out of hearing, and Flora and her husband pursued their walk 
to the hall. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

MISS WILHELMINA CALLS UPON FLORA. 

The breakfast things were scarcely removed the following morn 
ing, when Miss Carr walked into the room, where Flora was 
employed at her work-table, in manufacturing some small articles 
of dress. 

Your husband is afraid of me, Mrs. Lyndsay : he started off 
the moment he saw me coming up to the door. I don’t want to 
banish him from his own house.” 

Oh, not at all. He has business in town. Miss Carr. You 
have favored me with a very early visit.” 

“Too early? Just speak the truth plainly out. Why the 
deuce do people tell so many stories, when it would be far easier to 
speak the truth ? I assure you, that you look so neat and comfort- 
able in your morning costume, that you have no reason to be 
ashamed. I like to come upon people unawares, — to see them as 
they really are. You are welcome to come and see me in my night- 
cap, when the spirit moves you. When I’m not out walking, I’m 
always at home — busy at work, too,” she continued, putting a tiny 
cap upon her fist. “ That looks droll, and tells tales.” 

“ Oh, don’t ! — do spare me,” cried Flora, snatching the article 
from her odd companion, and hiding it away in the table-drawer. 
“ I did not mean that any one should catch me at this work.” 

“ Don’t think, my dear, that I am going to criticise you. I am 
no judge of sewing, — never set a stitch in my life. It must be a 
dull way of spending time. Can’t you put your needle- work out ?” 

Flora shook her head. 

“Too poor for that? Mrs. Turner’s daughter takes in all such 
gimcracks. Send what you’ve got over to her, and I’ll pay far the 
making.” , 

“Miss Carr!” said Flora, greatly distressed. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


4i 

What, angry again ?” 

“ No, not exactly angry ; but you wound my pride.” 

“ It would do you no harm to kill it outright,” said Miss Can, 
laughing — such a loud, jovial peal of merriment, which rang so 
clearly from her healthy lungs, that Flora, in spite of her offended 
dignity, was forced to laugh too. 

“You feel better now. I hope the proud fit is going off, and we 
can enjoy a reasonable chat. These clothes — what a bore they are 
to both poor and rich, — the rich setting their heart too much upon 
them, and the poor despised because they have not enough to keep 
them warm, — and those mean and old. Then, this is not all. 
There is the perpetual change of the fashions, which oblige people 
to put on what does not suit them, and to make monstrous frights 
of themselves to dress in the mode. You must have a morning- 
gown, a dinner-dress, and an evening costume ; all to be shifted and 
changed in the same day, consuming a deal of time, which might be 
enjoyed in wholesome exercise. I have no patience with such folly. 
The animals, let me tell you, are a great deal better off than their 
masters. Nature has provided them with a coat which never wants 
changing but once a-year ; and that is done so gradually, that they 
experience no inconvenience. No need of their consulting the fash- 
ions, or patching and stitching to keep up a decent appearance. It 
is a thousand pities that clothes were ever invented. People would 
have been much healthier, and looked much better without them.” 

“ My dear madam, did not G-od himself instruct our first parents 
to make garments of the skins of animals?” 

“ They were not necessary in a state of innocence, or He would 
have created them like cows and horses, with clothes upon their 
backs,” said Welhelmina, sharply. “ It was their own fault that 
they ever required such trumpery, entailing upon their posterity a 
curse as bad as the thorns and thistles. For I always consider it 
as such, when sweltering under the weight of gowns and petticoats 
on a hot day ; and I rate Mother Eve roundly, and in no measured 
terms, for her folly in losing the glorious privilege of walking in 
buff.” 

“ You must have been thinking of that,” said Flora, rather mis- 
chievously, and glancing down at Miss Wilhelmina's legs, “ when 
you cut your petticoats so short.” 

“ You are welcome to laugh at my short petticoats,” said Wil- 
helmina, “ as long as I feel the comfort of wearing them.- Now do 


42 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


tell me, candyiy — what impropriety is there in a woman showing 
her leg and foot, more than in another woman showing her hand 
and arm ? The evil lies in your own thoughts. You see the Ba- 
varian buy-a-broom girls passing before your windows every day, 
with petticoats cut three or four inches shorter than mine. You 
perceive no harm in that. ‘ It is the fashion of her country,’ you 
cry. Custom banishes from our minds the idea of impropriety; 
and the naked savage of the woods is as modest as the closely- 
covered civilian. Now, why am I compelled to wear long petti- 
coats drabbling in the mud, when a Bavarian may wear her’s up to 
the knees, and nobody think the worse of her ? I am as much a 
free agent as she is ; have as much right to wear what I please. 1 
like short petticoats — I can walk better in them — they neither take 
up the dust nor the mud, and leave my motions free and untram- 
melled — and what’s more, I mean to wear them. 

“ I have tried trowsers ; but they fettered me. It is difficult 
to stow a large figure like mine away into trowsers. I felt as if 
my legs were in the stocks, and kicked them off in disdain — simply 
remarking — ‘ what fools men are 1’ So, you don’t like my short 
petticoats ? and I hate your long ones. First, because they are 
slatternly and inconvenient; secondly, because they make your 
stockings dirty ; and thirdly, because they give you the idea that 
they are intended to conceal crooked legs. So don’t say one word 
in their favor.” 

“ It is but a matter of taste and opinion,” said Flora ; “ we will 
not quarrel about it. I think it wise, however, in order to avoid 
singularity, to conform to existing fashions.” 

“ Mrs. Lyndsay, I can prove to you in less than two minutes, 
that you transgress, daily, your own rules.” Flora looked incredu- 
lous. 

You do not wear ^.hustle, which is now considered by all ladies 
an indispensable article of dress.” 

“You are right : it is a disgusting fashion, which destroys the 
grace and just proportions of the female form. A monstrous 
piece of absurdity, that I have never adopted, and never will.”* 

“ Bravo ! Bravo !” shouted Miss Wilhelmina, clapping her 
hands in an ecstacy of delight. “ I have conquered you with your 
own weapons. There is no slipping past the horns of that dilem* 


* During twenty ^-^ears Flora kept her word. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


43 


ma. You refuse to wear a hump on your back, and 1 decline the 
honor of the long petticoats. Let us hear how you can justify 
yourself?” 

“You have gained an advantage by my own admission,” said 
Flora ; “ but I can’t consider myself beat.” 

“ Fairly out of the field, my dear — fairly out of the field. Ac- 
knowledge the defeat with a good grace. Let us shake hands, and 
drink a glass wine together in token of peace.” 

“ I never keep wine in the house,” said Flora, rather embarrassed 
at the request, particularly at such an early hour of the day. 

“ Never keep wine in your house! Why, how do you contrive 
to keep up your spirits, without a glass of wine now and then ?” 

“We are young, and require no artificial stimulants to render us 
cheerful and happy.” 

“ Well, I require stimulants,” said Miss Wilhelmina, with the 
violent exercise I take. I do not object to a glass of brandy-and- 
water, or even of gin, when I feel exhausted.” 

“ If you feel ill. Miss Carr, I will send out and get some.” 

“ 111 ! Lord bless you I I never was ill for an hour in my life. 
So, you cannot afford a little luxury like wine ? My child, I pity 
you : I am sure you require it. I wish you were better off.” 

“ I shall never quarrel, with Providence, from whom we have 
received so many blessings, on that account,” said Flora ; “ I 
am very grateful for the real comforts we enjoy.” 

“ Poor comfort!” quoth Miss Wilhelmina. “ My ideas of com- 
fort are always associated with wealth. I maintain, that no one 
can really be comfortable without it. What should I be without 
money? An antiquated, despised old maid — and with all my 
expensive habits, and queer notions, the very boys in the village 
would hold me in derision. For even boys know the importance 
of money, and let me pass unmolested through the midst of them.” 

“ I percieve that you are very popular with the young folks,” said 
Flora. 

“ All bribery and corruption, my dear. Boys are but men 
abridged and cramped down into skeleton jackets. When I come 
to a town, I throw a handful of small silver coin into the middle of 
the first group of boys I find in my path. The next time they see 
me coming, they cry out lustily, ‘ Off with your hats, boys ; here 
comes the rich lady !’ Off go the tattered hats and caps, and my 
small coin pays for the compliment.” 


44 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Your plan is an expensive one,” said Flora ; “ no wonder ^ha 
boys regard you with such favor.” 

“ I never found money fail but in one instance,” said Miss Wil- 
helm! ua, thoughtfully. “ Mind, it is not to every one that I would 
communicate my experience. People like to talk of themselves — to 
tell portions of their history ; it relieves their minds. There are 
very few to whom I have ever told mine ; but I think it will amuse 
you. The follies of others are always entertaining. 

‘‘ My father was Scotch — ^my mother Irish. The two nations 
don’t amalgamate very well together. The children of such an 
union are apt to inherit the peculiar national failings of both. My 
father united to a love of science a great deal of mechanical 
genius. He was a clever, prudent, enterprising man, and amassed 
a large fortune. My mother I never knew — ^she died when I was 
an infant. My father hired a good-natured, easy kind of woman, 
to be nurse. She was a widow, without children, whom he after- 
wards promoted to the head of his table. She was his third wife. 
He had one son by his first marriage, who had been born in Scot- 
land, and adopted by a rich uncle. He afterwards got an appoint- 
ment in India ; and I never saw him above half-a-dozen times in 
my life — and only when a child. He was a handsome, proud man, 
very Scotch in all his words and ways. We never took to one 
another. He thought me a spoilt, disagreeable, pert child ; and I 
considered him a cross, stern man ; and never could be induced to 
call him brother. 

“ I inherited a good property from my mother, which made me a 
very independent little lady, in my own conceit. I knew, that the 
moment I became of age, I was my own mistress. Perhaps it 
was this consciousness of power which made me the queer beings 
I am. 

“ My step-mother was very fond of me. She spoilt me shock- 
ingly — more than most mothers indulge their brats. She always 
seemed to retain a sense of the inferior position she had held. Not 
a common failing, by-the-bye : persons raised unexpectedly to 
wealth, from the lower class., generally measure their presumption 
by their ignorance. She always treated me as a superior. My 
father was very fond of her. These passive women are always 
great favorites with men. They have no decided character of 
their own, and become the mere echoes of superior minds. A vain 
man loves to see his own reflection in one of these domestic mag» 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


45 


nifying glasses : it is so gratifying to be the Alpha and Omega in 
his own house. His former wives were both handsome, conceited 
women, who thought so much of themselves, that they could reflect 
no perfections but their own. In this respect I resembled my 
mother — from a baby I thought fit to have a will and opinions of 
my own. 

“My step-mother always yielded to my masterly disposition 
when a child, generally ending the brief contest with the remark, 
‘ What a pity Willy was not a boy I What a fine, spirited boy 
she would have made !’ When I grew a tall girl, I became mon 
independent still, and virtually was mistress of the house. My 
father sent me to school. I learnt quickly enough ; but I was 
expelled from half a dozen for striking my teacher whenever sh^ 
dared to raise her hand to correct me. At length my education 
was finished, and I returned home for good, as wild and as fierce 
as an untamed colt. 

“My step-mother had a nephew — a lad whom my father had 
befriended very much. He had paid for his education, had bound 
him to an eminent surgeon, and, when his term expired, had 
enabled him, from the same source, to walk the hospitals and 
attend the necessary lectures. Henry was attending the last 
course which was to fit him for entering upon his profession ; and 
during that period he made our house his home. 

“ He was not handsome, but a well-grown, high-spirited, clever 
young fellow. Not at all a sentimental person, but abounding in 
frolic and fun, full of quaint, witty sayings, and the very incarna- 
tion of mischief. We took amazingly to each other ; and he 
enjoyed all my odd freaks and fancies, and encouraged me in all 
my masculine propensities. 

“ I grew very fond of him : he was the only creature of his sex 
I ever loved ; — but I did love him, and I thought that he loved me. 
I considered myself handsome and fascinating. All young people 
think so, if they are ever so ordinary. It belongs to the vanity of 
the age, which believes all things — ^hopes for all things, and enter- 
tains no fears for the result. 

“ The girls at school had told me, that I was ‘ a perfect fright 
but I did not believe them. They laughed at my snub nose and 
carrotty locks, and said ‘that it would take all my money to buy 
me a husband.’ 

“ Now, by way o liigression, I’m a great talker, Mrs. Lyndsay, 


46 


FLORA LINDSAY. 


and love to ramble from one subject to another. Do just tell m« 
why a snvh nose should be reckoned vulgar and red hair disgrace- 
ful 

This was an awkward question. It was, however, put point 
blank. Flora could not avoid giving something in the shape of an 
answer. | 

It is impossible to account for these things,” she said. Any j 
deviation from a recognised standard of taste and beauty is always j 
open to objections. But there are a great many modifications of 
these rules. Elegance of form, grace of manner, charms of expres- 
sion, and even sweetness of voice, will render plain persons not 
only agreeable, but highly so.” 

You reconcile me to my snub nose and red hair,” said the odd 
woman. But few people possess a nice sense of discrimination ; 
they are quick at finding out defects — slow at discovering graces. 
The world is full of unjust partialities. My snub nose would have 
been considered a beauty in Africa ; my red hair would have been 
admired in Italy ; but there is no struggling against national preju- 
dices ; and these bull-headed English are the most prejudiced ani- 
mals under the sun— and I was remorselessly branded as a fright 
by a sneering pack of girls, half of whom had noses as bad as my 
own. I had my private opinion on the subject, in which I flat* 
tered myself my cousin (as I called Henry) would perfectly agree. 

“ He never told me he loved me. I felt certain that he did, and 
that it was gratitude to my father, for all that he had done for 
him, which kept him silent. This was a foolishly romantic notion 
of mine ; but there was a touch of romance about me in those 
days. I was green — very green. I can laugh at myself now ; but 
it has always been rather a sore subject. 

“ Henry did not speak himself. So I thought I would break the 
ice, and speak for him. You look surprised. Well, I know it is 
-not exactly according to the general rule observed in such mat- 
ters, which ties a woman’s tongue, and obliges her to wait with all 
humility, until she is asked by some man, whom perhaps she does 
not care a fig for, to be his wife. I never lived within rules, and 
I thought I had as much right to please myself, and ask a man to 
marry me, as a man had to ask me to be his wife. 

“ I made Henry an ofier of my hand, heart, and fortune — and — 
it is no use being ashamed, at my time of life, of a thing which 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


47 


happened such a long time ago — was refused ! — without any 
softening of the matter — down right, positively refused. 

‘‘ The ungrateful varlet did not even thank me for the honor. He 
briefly told me, ‘ That I was a very amusing girl, but the last 
woman on earth he should wish to make his wife ; that as to 
money, it was certainly a great inducement, but not enough to 
compensate for the sacrifice of his principles. He had a good pro- 
fession, and hoped to earn by it wealth and independence.’ 

“ Ah ! how I hated him while he told me all this. How I have 
hated all his sex from that hour, for his sake ! 

“ However, my dear, it had this good effect — it cured me of all 
such ridiculous weakness, then and for ever. I shook off the love 
fit, and Wilhelmina was herself again. 

“ My step-mother died shortly after this, and I became the mis- 
tress of my father’s house. He was old and very infii'm, and 
completely wrapped up in his scientific studies. I only saw him 
occasionally, and then my nonsense amused him. He pined after 
my step-mother ; and very shortly followed her to the grave. I 
had just attained my majority when he died, and I came into a fine 
property, and found myself at my own disposal. 

“ Nobody cared for me, and I cared for nobody. I wished to 
take a peep at the world, and determined to travel over as much 
of its surface as I possibly could; and please myself as to the 
method I employed to effect my object. 

“ I have been in a great many foreign countries, and seen a great 
many strange people ; an4 been an actor in many extraordinary 
scenes ; and I have come to the conclusion, that the world, after 
all, is not such a terrible bad world to live in, and that the very 
worst of its inhabitants are not entirely withcHit some good.” 

As she finished this sentence, the church clock proclaimed to the 
whole town the hour of one. Miss Wilhelmina sprang from her 
chair, exclaiming, Holloa I that’s my dinner hour. It will take 
me ten minutes to get home, and the fish will be quite spoilt. Ex- 
cuse me, Mrs. Lyndsay, and come and takq tea with me, like a good 
soul, to-morrow evening. I never take tea later than six.” 

Miss Wilhelmina vanished. Flora laughed over the interview 
until her husband came home, and then they had a good laugh 
together. 


4 ^ 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FLORA GOES TO TEA WITH MISS CARR. 

The following evening, at the primitive hour of half-past fiv^ 
Flora took her work, and went across the green to take tea with 
Miss Carr. 

She found that eccentric lady seated by the window, looking out 
for her, and Muff standing on her shoulder, catching flies off the 
panes of glass. The evening was cold and raw, though thejnonth 
was August, and threatened rain. Such changes are common on 
the coast. The dreary aspect of things without was relieved by a 
small but very cheerful Are, which was burning away merrily in the 
grate. A large easy-chair, covered with snow-white dimity, was 
placed near it, expressly for Flora's accommodation, into which she 
was duly inducted by Miss Carr, the moment she had relieved her- 
self of her bonnet and shawl. Everything looked so comfortable 
and cosy, in the neat lodging-house, and the tame mad woman 
received Mrs. Lyndsay with such hospitable warmth of mannner, 
that the former regretted that her husband was not allowed to share 
her visit. 

“ You are late,” said Wilhelmina, drawing a small sofa up to the 
Are, and placing it opposite to Flora's easy chair, so that a pretty 
work-table stood conveniently between them ; “ I told you to come 
early, and I have been waiting for you this hour.” 

“ I am sorry for that. I thought I had come unfashionably 
early.” 

“ Fashion ! What have you or I to do with anything so absurd 
as fashion ? You are too poor to attend to the whims and caprices 
which sway the mind of the multitude, from which I presume ema- 
nate the fashions of the world ; and I am too independent to be 
swayed by any will but my own. We will therefore set the fashion 
for ourselves. This .is liberty hall while I am mistress of it. I do 
as I please ; I give you full permission to do the same. But what 
kept you so late ?” 

A thousand little domestic duties, too numerous and too 
trifling to dwell upon,” said Flora, drawing her work from her 
bag ; since you give me the privilege of doing as I please, I will 
resume my work while I listen to your lively convcrsatiou.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


49 


** You will do no such thing,” returned Wilheiiiiina, twitching a 
frill which Flora had commenced hemming, from her hand, “ I will 
have no stitching and sewing here, but as much conversation as you 
please.” Then ringing the bell, she handed over the frill to Mrs. 
Turner. “ Give that to you daughter, Mrs. T., to hem for me, and 
tell her to do it in her very best style.” 

“ Why, la, ma’am, ’tis a very small affair,” said Mrs. Turner, 
with a meaning smile. 

“A nightcap frill for Muff,” said Miss Carr. “The cold 
weather is coming. I mean Muff to wear caps in the winter.” 

“You are a droll lady,” said Mrs. Turner, retreating ; “ it’s a 
pity you had not something better to make an idol of than a dog.” 

While Miss Carr was speaking to' Mrs. Turner, Flora glanced 
round the room, and was not a little surprised to find a pianoforte 
making part of the furniture, an open drawing-box of a very expen- 
sive kind, with card-board and other drawing materials, occupied a 
side-table. These were articles of refinement she had not expected 
from a man-like woman of Miss Carr’s character. 

“ Are you fond of drawing ?” she asked, when they were once 
more alone. 

“ Passionately, my dear : I am a self-taught genius. Other 
people drew, and I was determined that I would draw too. What 
should hinder me ? I have eyes to see, and hands to copy what 
pleases me ; and the school from which I derive instruction is the 
best in the world, and furnishes the most perfect models — that of 
Nature. I never bent my mind to anything that I wished to 
accomplish, and failed. But you shall judge for yourself.” 

Miss Wilhelmina sprang from her seat, and bouncing into a 
closet, soon returned with a large portfolio, which she placed on 
the table before Flora. “ There are my treasures ; you can exam- 
ine them at your leisure.” 

Flora did not expect anything delicate or beautiful, but she was 
perfectly astonished — not at the skill and taste displayed in these 
drawings, but at the extraordinary want of it ; nothing could be 
worse, or indeed so eccentrically bad. The first specimen of Miss 
Carr’s talents as an artist, which she drew from the splendid velvet- 
covered portfolio, puzzled her not a little. What the picture was 
meant for. Flora, for the life of her, could not tell, until, glancing 
down to the bottom of the sheet, she read with great difficulty the 
following explanation, written in a vile hand — 

3 


50 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


** Portrait of the Incomparable Muff, taken while picking her 
bo7ie at breakfasts 

It was a good thing she had discovered a key to the hieroglyphic, 
for Miss Carr’s keen eyes were fixed intently upon her, as if they 
were reading her inmost soul. 

Is it not beautiful ?” she cried, anticipating Flora’s admiration. 

“ Muff is a very pretty animal,” said Flora, evasively, 

Mufi* pretty !” exclaimed Miss Carr, indignantly ; who ever 
thought of insulting Mufi* by calling her pretty ! She is exquisite — 
the perfection of her species. I have, in that spirited picture, hit 
her off to the life. Look at the action of that tail — the life-like 
grasp of those paws ! You might almost fancy you heard her 
growl over the delicious broiled mutton-bone.” 

“ Flora thought the picture would have suited the Ornithorhyn- 
chus paradoxus quite as well as the incomparable Muff. The draw- 
ing was too bad to praise ; she could not flatter, and she abhorred 
quizzing. 

Miss Carr waited for her answer. Flora was dumb-foundered ; 
fortunately the offended vanity of the artist soon relieved her from 
the painful and embarrassing silence. 

I perceive that you are no judge of good paintings, Mrs. Lynd- 
say, or you must see some merit in the one before you. I showed 
that sketch to an Italian artist of celebrity when I was at Kome ; 
he said, * That it was worthy of the original,’ which I considered 
no mean praise.” 

“ Doubtless, he was right,” said Flora. ** His judgment must 
be more correct than mine. Muff is so unlike the generality of 
dogs, that it is difficult to recognize her as such.” 

She’s a fairy !” cried Wilhelmina, forgetting her anger, and 
hugging Muff to her breast. 

A Brownie,” suggested Flora, delighted to find the conversa- 
tion taking a turn. 

Brownies belong to an inferior order of immortals,” quoth 
Wilhelmina, still caressing her dog. “My Muff is among the 
aristocrats of her species. But you have not seen the rest of my 
sketches. You will find a great many original pieces in the port- 
folio.” 

Flora wished them all behind the fire, and turning with a rueful 
seriousness to the sacred repository of genius, she drew forth sev- 
eral daubs tha\ were meant for landscapes, the contemplation of 


FLORA LYNDfiAY. 


61 


whicli would have provoked the most indifferent person to mirth : 
but it was no laugliing matter to examine them while a being sc 
odd as Miss Carr was regarding you with a fixed gaze, hungry for 
applause and admiration. 

Flora thought she had discovered the maddest point in Miss 
Carr’s character. At length she stumbled upon a portrait. The 
figure was meant for that of a boy, but the head was as big as 
the head of a man, and covered with a forest of red, curling hair, 
and he held in his hand a bunch of blue flowers as big as himself, 
‘‘What an odd looking creature!” burst involuntarily from her 
lips. 

“ Ah, my beautiful Adolphe !” cried Wilhelmina. “ He was 
odd like myself — he stood alone in the the world, in ray estimation, 
I must tell you the history of that child while you have his charm- 
ing face before you.” 

Flora quietly slipped the portrait back into the portfolio. Her 
inclination to laugh became almost irrepressible. Miss Wilhel- 
mina laid her right foot over her left knee, and, patting it almost 
as complacently as she would have done the silky, brown back of 
her pet dog, gave Mrs. Lyndsay the following passage from her 
history : — 

“ That boy, with the education I meant to bestow upon him, 
w^ould have become a great man — a second William Tell, or 
Andrew Hoffer — and I should have been the foster-mother of a 
man of genius. But it was not to be — there is a fate in these 
things.” 

“ Did he die?” asked Flora. 

“ Die 1 that would have been nothing out of the common way ; 
everybody must die, some time or other. Oh, no, he may be living 
yet, for what I know — it was far worse than that.” 

Flora became interested. 

“ First — I like to begin at the beginning — I must tell you how 
I came by Adolphe. I passed the summer of ’28 in a small village 
among the Alps. Every fine day I rambled among the mountains, 
sometimes with a guide, sometimes alone. About half-a-mile from 
the village I daily encountered, upon the rocky road, a red-headed 
little boy of eight years of age, who never failed to present me with 
a bunch of the blue flowers which grow just below the regions of 
ice and snow. He presented his offering in such a pretty, simple 
manner, that I never accepted his flowers without giving him a kiss 


52 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


and a few small coins. We soon became great friends, and he 
often accompanied me on my exploring expeditions. Whether it 
was his red head — God bless the mark I or a likeness I fancied I 
saw between him and me, I cannot tell ; but at last I grew so fond 
of the child tliat I determined to adopt him as my own. His father 
was one of the mountain guides, and resided in a small cabin among 
the hills. I followed Adolphe to his romantic home, and disclosed 
my wishes to his parents. They were very poor people, with a 
large family — Adolphe being number twelve of the domestic group. 

“ For a long time they resisted all my entreaties to induce them 
to part with the child. The woman, like the mother of the 
Gracchi, thought fit to look upon her children as her jewels — 
Adolphe, in particular, she considered the gem in the maternal 
crown. Her opposition only increased my desire to gain possession 
of the boy ; indeed, I was so set upon having him that, had she 
remained obstinate, I determined to carry him off without asking 
her leave a second time. My gold, and the earnest request of the 
child himself, at last overcome her scruples ; and after binding me 
by a solemn promise to let them see him at least once a-year, she 
gave him into my charge, with many tears. 

“ Having accomplished this business, greatly to my own satis- 
faction, I set off with Adolphe, on a tour on foot through Germany. 
He was not o?iiIy a great comfort to me, but useful withal. He 
was sturdy and strong, a real son of the hills, and he carried my 
small valise, and enlivened the length of the road with his agreeable 
prattle. 

“ When we put up for the night, the people always took him for 
my son : a fact I thought it useless to dispute in a foreign country. 
It woul(Fhave had a more significant meaning in England. A red- 
headed single lady could not have travelled alone, with a red-headed 
child, without disagreeable insinuations. Abroad, I always passed 
myself off as a widow, and Adolphe of course was my orphan son, 

“ Matters went off very pleasantly, until we arrived at Vienna, 
and I hired a neat lodging in a quiet part of the city, where I 
determined to spend the winter. The next morning I went out, 
accompanied by Adolphe, to examine the lions of the place. By 
accident we got entangled in a crowd, which had collected in one 
of the principal thoroughfares, to witness a fire. While striving 
to stem my way through the heaving mass of human forms that 
hedged ns in on every side, I suddenly missed my child. To find 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


53 


him among such a multitude, was, indeed, to look for a needle in a 
wagon of hay ; yet I commenced the search in utter desperation. 

“ I ran hither and thither, wherever I could find an opening, 
frantically calling upon Adolphe. I asked every person whom I 
met — ‘ If they had seen my boy V Some pitied — some laughed ; 
but the greater number bade me stand out of their way. I was 
mad with fear and excitement, and returned to my lodgings late in 
the evening, starving with hunger, and worn out with fatigue of 
mind and body. I hoped that the child might have found his way 
home, and was waiting me there. Alas ! Adolphe had not been 
seen, and I went to bed too much vexed to eat my supper. 

“ Early the next morning I resumed my search. I hired the 
public cryer to proclaim my loss ; I borrowed a large bell from my 
landlady, and went through all the streets crying him myself, 
hoping that he would recognise my voice. Alas ! alas ! I never 
saw my child again !” 

“ Never ?” said Flora. “ Was he irrecoverably lost?” 

'‘Lost, lost, lost!” said Wilhelmina, shaking her head. “This 
comes of adopting other people’s brats. Had he been a worthless, 
spoilt imp of my own, I should have been more successful. I stay- 
ed in Vienna all the winter. I advertised him in the papers. 1 
had placards, offering a large reward for his discovery, pasted on 
the walls of the principal streets; but I failed in recovering my 
poor Adolphe. To console myself for his loss, I painted that por- 
trait of him from memory. ’Tis an admirable likeness. No one 
who had ever seen the original, could mistake it for another^ It was 
just a week after I lost my child, that the mistress of the house, in 
compassion for my distress, presented me with my incomparable 
Muff. Fortune owed me a good turn, for the ill-natured trick she 
had played me. It would not have been difficult for me to have 
found another red-headed boy, as amiable as Adolphe ; but such a 
prize as Muff is only to be met with once in a life.” 

“ And the parents of the poor child, — how did they bear his 
loss ?” 

“ To tell you the truth, my dear, I never knew. I never wish to 
know ; for, without Adolphe, I never mean to venture into their 
neighborhood again.” 

“ Let us hope,” said Flora, “ that the child found his way back 
to his native mountains.” 

“ Hurra !” cried Miss Wilhelmina, starting from her seat, and 


54 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


giving Flora such a hearty embrace that sne nearly choked her. “ 1 
never thought of that possibility before. Yes — yes j he had money 
in his little purse. I have no doubt that, on missing me, he 
returned by the road we had travelled to his native place. ITiat 
demon won’t haunt my dreams again. But here comes the coffee, 
and Miss Turner’s delicious cakes and home-made bread and but- 
ter. I hope you are fond of coffee, my dear ? I detest tea ; — it is 
a sort of nervous, maudlin, sick-chamber trash, only fit for old 
maids and milk-and-water matrons.” 

“ I prefer coffee,” said Flora. I have quite an Asiatic taste in 
that respect.” 

“ Don’t talk of Asiatic coffee,” said Wilhelmina ; “ wait till you 
have tasted it. The nauseous stuff ! I have drank enough of it at 
Constantinople, but never could get it down without a grimace. 
I have it made in the French style.” 

The coffee and cakes were served on a small silver tray, which 
was placed on the table between them. The coffee was fragrant 
aiid exhilarating ; the bread and butter and cakes richly deserved 
the praise Miss Wilhelmina had bestowed upon them. Flora had 
dined early, and did justice to them. 

“ I like to see a person enjoy their meals,” said Miss Carr. “ I 
hate affectation in eating, as much as I hate affectation in speech. 
Some mince with their food as if they were ashamed of putting a 
morsel into their mouths before people. They ask for the leas^ 
piece of this, and for an imaginary crumb of that ; and make theit 
entertainers uncomfortable by their ridiculous fastidiousness ; while, 
if we could see these very delicate masticators in their own homes, 
perhaps we should find them grumbling for Benjamin’s share of thb 
daily meal. For my own part, I always eat in public as if no eye 
was upon me, and do it in a hearty, natural way. You may be 
sure, when you see persons, whether male or female, give them- 
selves great airs M table, that they have never been used to good 
society at home.” 

Flora thought there was a great deal of truth in some of Wilhel- 
mina ’s remarks. But she felt that it would be dangerous to take 
the doings of such an odd mortal for precedents in any case ; and 
she was justified in her opinion by Miss Carr, the moment the table 
was cleared, calling for hot water, brandy, and wine. 

“ Do you smoke ?” she cried, producing a box of segars from the 
closet, and a long Turkish pipe. Then, drawing down the window- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


55 


curtains, she tucked her legs under her upon the sofa, and com- 
menced filling, from a beautiful inlaid silver box, her hooker, with 
its finely-ornamented bowl and amber mouthpiece. 

Flora looked her astonishment, as she said — 

‘ Miss Carr, do you really smoke?” 

Do I know what is good ?” said Wilhelmina. “ Did you never 
Bee a woman smoke before?” 

“ Yes, Irish barrow-women, in London ; and I thought it odd, 
even for them.” 

“ They were wise women, my near, and knew how to appreciate 
the merits of the weed. The Irish are a clever people — a very 
clever people. You remember, that I am Irish by the mother’s 
side, and have retained one of the national tastes. But it was not 
in Ireland, nor in the streets of London, sitting upon a fruit- 
woman’s barrow, that I learned the pleasures of smoking. It was 
in the East, with all its pretended romance, and real humbug, that 
I acquired what you consider an unfeminine accomplishment. I 
saw fat, turbaned men sitting cross-legged in every bazaar, dozing 
over their huge pipes, in a sort of dreamy helplessness ; and I 
determined to fathom the mystery of their enjoyment, and find out 
the grand secret. 

“The first few whiflfe I took made me very sick and stupid. 
‘ Courage,’ said I, not in the least disheartened — 

“ ‘ Pleasure cometh after pain. 

Sunshine cometh after rain— 

Wilhelmina, try again.’ 

And I did try, for I was determined not to be beaten by these long- 
bearded, long-petticoated men ; and the next trial was crowned 
with complete success. 

“ Now, Mrs. Lyndsay, is it not a shame that these selfish men 
should be tamely allowed by us foolish women to monopolise all 
the good things of life, and make that criminal in a female which 
they cannot deny themselves ? You don’t know how much you 
lose, by being frightened by their blustering into passive obedience, 
and persuaded that what is good for a man is quite out of keeping 
with a woman. Do, just by way of illustration to my argument, 
try one of those fragrant cigars They are of the best quality — real 
FTavana — ’pon honor.” 

“You must excuse me,” said Flora, laughing — as Miss Wilhel- 


5,6 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


milia’s head dimly loomed through clouds of smoke — “ I have no 
wish to acquire such a taste.’’ 

“ You’re a little fool,” puffed forth Wilhelmiua. “ But I hope 
to make something out of you yet. Take a glass of wine.” 

“ I never drink anything but water, excepting at breakfast and 
tea.” 

“ Water ! Fiddle-faddle. A tumbler of hot punch will do you 
no harm. I am going to mix some in the most scientific manner.” 

“ Only think what Lyndsay would say,” cried Flora, “ if he 
should come in, and find me smoking a cigar, and drinking brandy 
punch ! He would never forgive me — I could never forgive my- 
self.” 

“ All stuff and nonsense ; I am certain he would neither refuse 
one of these cigars, nor a tumbler of this excellent punch. Does 
he never smoke?” 

“ Oh, yes ; a cigar, sometimes.” 

“ And takes a glass of toddy — or he’s no Scot.” 

Occasionally, with a friend.” 

“ A male friend, of course. He takes snuff, for I have seen him 
do it ; and this, between ourselves, is a far dirtier habit than smok- 
ing. I hate snuff ; it always reminds me of a lecture I once heard 
upon that subject in America. The lecturer was a methodist ; 
and he spoke very vehemently against the use of tobacco in any 
shape ; but snuff-taking seemed to rouse him up, and inflame his 
indignation to a pitch of enthusiasm. ‘Tf the Almighty,’ he said, 
‘ had intended a man’s nose for a dust-hole, he would have turned 
up the nostrils the other way.’ These were his very words ; and 
to me they were so convincing, that I discarded from that moment 
all idea of becoming a snuff-taker.” 

Wilhelmina emptied her tumbler of brandy and water, which she 
as quickly replenished. These strong potations began to take 
effect — her eyes danced in. her head, and she became so strangely 
excited, that Flora wished devoutly that she was safe at home. 
Presently her odd companion laid aside her pipe, pushed from 
before her the now empty tumbler, and, rising abruptly, exclaimed, 

“ I’ve had enough.” 

Flora thought that she might have come to that conclusion half 
an hour before. 

I’m not intoxicated,” she said : “ I only drink enough to raise 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


5 ^ 


my spirits, and drive away the blue devils. And now for a little 
music.” 

She sat down to the piano. 

“ I play entirely from ear, Mrs. Lyndsay ; I leave you to judge 
if I have not an exquisite taste. Here is a march I composed this 
morning for Captain Lyndsay’s black regiment — Hottentot, of 
course. You say he plays well himself. He cannot fail to admire 
it. I will write it out for him to-morrow.” 

Of all Miss Carr’s strange whims, the idea she entertained of 
her being a great musician, was the most absurd. She rattled 
over the keys at a tremendous rate, striking them with such force 
that she made the instrument shake. It was a mad revel — a hurri- 
cane of sound, yet not without a certain degree of eccentric talent. 
In the midst of a tremendous passage, tliere came a knock at the 
door. 

“ That’s my husband,” said Flora, rising, glad to get away. 

It was only the maid. 

“ You are no prophet,” said Miss Carr, rattling on ; “ you must 
stay till I give you Napoleon's Passage of the Alps. I wrote it on 
the spot. It is a grand thing. I mean to publish it one of these 
days.” 

Flora said, “ that she should be happy to hear it some other time. 
It was late. She was anxious to get home.” 

“Be off with you, then,” said Wilhelmina, laughing, “ and don’t 
tell me any white lies, or try and convince your good man, that I 
have been endeavoring to corrupt your morals.” 

Lyndsay was amused, but not much pleased, with the account 
his wife gave him of her visit to Miss Carr. 

“ You must drop that woman’s acquaintance, if possible,” said 
he. “ Whether insane, or only eccentric, any particular intimacy 
with her must be attended with unpleasant consequences.” 

Flora was willing enough to follow his advice ; but to get rid 
of Miss Carr was sooner said than done. Flora did not go to that 
lady’s house, but Wilhelmina chose to come to her ; though she 
gave her neither pipes to smoke, nor brandy to drink, her odd 
guest never failed to step in once or twice a week. 

“ You are an ungrateful creature. Flora Lyndsay,” said Wilhel- 
mina, one day to her — “ very ungrateful. You know I am fond of 
you ; but you are such a mental coward, that you are ashamed of 
my acquaintance, because the world finds fault with me, for not 

3 * 


58 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


living in accordance with its lying customs. You are afraid lest 
people should sneer at you for tolerating my eccentricities, as they 
please to term a person leading a true life — or say that Mrs. Lynd* 
say smokes and swears, because Miss Carr does ; and your sense 
of propriety is shocked at such an idea. I do drink and smoke ; 
but like Poll, in the sailor’s song, ^ I seldom swear,'' It gives me 
no pleasure ; and I never do anything gratuitously bad.” 

Flora could not deny that these were among the objections she 
had to an intimacy with Miss Carr ; but she wisely held her tongue 
upon the subject. 

“ Ah, well,” said Wilhelmina, after waiting a reasonable time 
for an answer, and getting none. Your silence is very conclusive 
evidence of the accusation I have brought against you. I give you 
credit for being honest, at least. You are no sneak, though I am 
rich, and you are poor. I verily believe, that you are prouder 
of your poverty, than I am of my wealth. I know many persons 
who hate me, and would yet fawn to me before my face, while they 
abused me like pickpockets behind my back. You are not one of 
them, and I love you for that.” 

Flora had a kindness for Wilhelmina. She believed her to be 
mad, and not accountable for her actions, and she tried to persuade 
her to give over her rambling propensities, and accept the protec- 
tion of her brother’s roof. This advice greatly displeased Miss 
Carr. Flora might as well have striven to confine a hurricane 
within the bounds of a cambric pocket-handkerchief, as to lay the 
least embargo upon that lady’s freedom of speech or action. 

Mind your own business, Mrs. Lyndsay,” she said, angrily. 
“ I suffer no one to interfere with me or my matters.” 

For many months Wilhelmina never entered the house, though 
she walked past the window every day, to give Flora a hint that 
she was still in the land of the living. 

In February Mrs. Lyndsay’s little girl was born ; and for a long 
time she was too ill to stir abroad. Miss Carr sent Mrs. Turner 
every day to inquire after her health ; and testified her regard in a 
more substantial form, by sending her two dozen of old Madeira 
wine, which she said would strengthen and do her good. Flora 
was very grateful for these little attentions, and felt ashamed of 
the repugnance she had shown for Wilhelraina’s society. But they 
never met again, until Miss Carr came to bid her farewell. 

“ You arc going to Canada,” she said, shaking Flora heartily by 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


59 


the hand. “ You are wise. In that wild country you will enjoy 
the glorious privilege of living as you please. I would go too, but 
I am afraid the cold winters would not agree w'ith Muff, and her 
comfort has to be considered as well as my own. I spent a winter 
in New York ; and I like the Americans first-rate. But as to pure 
democracy, my dear, that’s all a humbug. Well-educated, 
wealthy persons, never consider themselves upon an equality with 
their servants. But they are pleasant, kind, intelligent people to 
live with, if you have plenty of money, and dress well. I know 
nothing of Canada ; it was too insignificant to awaken either inte- 
rest or curiosity. I shall regard it with more complacency for 
your sake.” 

Flora took the opportunity of thanking Miss Carr for her kind- 
ness during her illness. 

What a serious matter you make of a trifle,” said Wilhelmina, 
laughing. “Don’t thank me. It was neither out of love nor 
(sharity I sent it, but just to make you confess that wine was a 
good thing, after all, and much better to take than the doctor’s 
stuff.” 

“ The doctor had recommended wine, but we could not afford it. 
I never told Lyndsay a word about it, for fear he should lay out 
the money we wanted so much for our voyage, in such an expensive 
remedy. I am certain that it did me a great deal of good.” 

“ Doubtless,” said Wilhelmina. “ I am glad to have rendered 
you a service, however trifling. You are a dear, prudent creature, 
but want spirit to live as you please. I leave this hum-drum place 
to-morrow. Perhaps some of these days we may meet again ; if 
not, you may live to learn that you slighted the friendship of one 
of the greatest geniuses that has arisen in this age.” 

Miss Carr left the town on foot, as suddenly as she had entered 
it. Who or what she was, w mains a riddle to this day : we are 
almost inclined to believe that she was a myth. 


60 


FLORA LYNDSAl 


CHAPTER X. 

OLD JARVIS AND HIS DOG NEPTUNE. 

‘‘Ma’aM; old Jarvis is in the kitchen. He has brought some 
fish, and wants to see you,” said Flora’s maid one morning, as her 
mistress had just finished washing and dressing the baby. 

“ Poor old man! I thought he was dead,” said Flora. “ I have 
not seen him for such a long time!” and, with baby in her arms, 
she followed the girl into tlie kitchen. 

David Jarvis was a fisherman, well known upon that coast, — an 
active, energetic son of the sea, though somewhat time-worn and 
weather-beaten. The person of the old man had been familiar to 
Flora since she was a little child ; and many a stolen trip had she 
taken with her brothers in his cockleshell of a boat, which, tough 
as its master, had stood the wear and imt of the winds and waves 
for many years. 

Since she came to reside at , she had often watched that 

little boat dancing over the waves, carried onward by a stiff breeze, 
now hiding in the green valleys of the sea, now mounting aloft, like 
a feather floating on the ridge of some toppling surge. The old 
man seemed to bear a charmed life; for at all seasons, and in 
almost all weather, the little wiry seaman, with his short pipe in 
his mouth, and his noble Newfoundland dog, Neptune, in the bow 
of his boat, might be seen coasting along the shore, following his 
adventurous calling. 

That large, deep-chested, powerful dog, was the admiration of all 
the children in the town. It was considered a privilege by the 
young fry to pat Neptune’s buff head, and call him the “ dear, good, 
old dog 1” and well did the fine animal deserve the title. 

The good dog had, at different times, saved nine seamen from a 
watery grave, as the collar he wore round his neck recording the 
fact could testify. 

Next to his two fine sons, Nep was the delight of the old man s 
heart. They were never seen apart. In storm or sunshine, Nep 
accompanied his master in the boat ; or, if fishing on the beach, he 
sat up on his haunches, with a calm, sagacious air, watching the 
accumulating pile of fish entrusted to his care. Sociable, affable, 
and gentle, he submitted good-humoredly to the caresses of all the 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


61 


youngsters who passed that way ; but if any one dared to lay a fin- 
ger upon the fish, the lion-like nature of the animal was roused into 
instant action. His mild eye became red and fiery, and his deep 
voice bade defiance to the incautious intruder on his master’s 
rights, to protect which Nep was ready to lay down his valuable 
life. 

Jarvis and his dog enjoyed a great degree of popularity in an 
humble way ; and were decidedly among the lions of the place. 
Gentlemen had offered large sums for the buff Newfoundland dog, 
which Jarvis had i*ejected without a second thought ; declaring, 
that he would as soon sell a child for money, as his faithful Nep. 
During the past year the old seaman had been severely tried. Mis- 
fortune had followed upon misfortune ; until the hardy veteran 
looked like the spectre of his former self. 

His only daughter, a pretty girl of eighteen, was engaged to 
marry the ostler at the Crown Inn, a fine-looking young man, who 
had lately come from London. He saw Nancy Jarvis, became 
enamored of the fisherman’s daughter, told his tale of love, and was 
accepted. The old man was rather averse to the match ; for, in 
his eyes, no man was worthy of his Nancy, who was not a genuine 
son of the sea. Robert Green at last succeeded in overcoming his 
nautical prejudices ; and a day was fixed for the wedding. Nancy’s 
rosy, artless face was all smiles and sunshine, as night after night 
she sauntered past Flora’s windows, leaning upon the arm of her 
betrothed. Only two days previous to the one appointed for the 

wedding, the father learned from old captain P , whose vessel 

had just returned from London, that Robert Green had a wife and 
two children in the great city : that the poor young woman, hear- 
ing that his vessel was from the Port of , had come on board, 

to make some inquiries respecting her faithless husband ; and that 
she and her little ones were now on their way to join him. 

This distressing intelligence was rashly communicated, without 
any previous warning, to Nancy Jarvis. The unfortunate girl, 
seized with a sudden frenzy, rushed to the pier and flung herself 
into the sea, when the tide was running out ; and her distracted 
parents never succeeded in recovering the body of the poor maniac. 
The worthless libertine, on whose account this desperate act was 
committed, decamped in the night ; and so escaped the vengeance 
of the old fisherman and his sons. 

Davy J arvis, the old seaman’s youngest son, a fine lad of sixteen. 


62 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


was drowned in the month of July, only a few weeks after the 
tragical death of his sister. Flora and Lyndsay had been eye-wit* 
nesses of this fresh calamity, Every fine afternoon the young 
Davy was in the habit of going i>ff with another boy, of his own 
age, in his father’s boat. When they had rowed a couple of miles 
from the shore, they lay to, stripped, and went into the water to 
swim, diving and sporting among the waves, like two sea-gulls 
taking their pastime in the summer ocean. 

Lyndsay had often watched them, and admired the dexterity 
with which the younger Jarvis would tumble himself from the 
water into the boat, which was left rocking upon the billows, and 
steady it for his comrade to get in. They would then resume their 
garments, and row to the beach. 

One afternoon they went off as usual. The day was bright and 
cloudless, with a stiff breeze. Lyndsay was reading aloud to Flora, 
as she sat at work at the open window which commanded a view 
of the whole bay. 

‘‘There’s Davy Jarvis and his comrade, putting off their boat 
for a swim. They must mind what they are about,” said Lyndsay ; 
“ the wind is rather too blustering for their water frolic to-day.” 

He put down his book, and continued to watch the lads with 
some interest. The boys reached their accustomed track among 
the waves ; and, leaving their boat as usual, seemed to enjoy their 
sport with more zest than ever. Whilst in the water, the breeze 
freshened, and it was with great difficulty, and not without hard 
swimming, that the lads regained their boat, which, driven before 
the wind, seemed determined to reach the shore without them. 
They succeeded at last, dressed themselves, and stood in for the land. 
A long line of heavy surf was beating violently against the beach, 
and by some mismanagement, the boat got capsized among the 
breakers. One lad was thrown on shore, but Davy Jarvis got 
entangled in the surf, which beat continually over him, and ren- 
dered all the efforts of himself and comrade fruitless ; and the brave 
boy was drowned before the sailors who 'hurried to his assistance 
could rescue him from his perilous situation. 

Flora had watched the scene with a degree of excitement so 
intense, that it almost deprived her of breath. She could not 
believe that the lad could perish within the reach of help, and so 
ne^r the shore. The shrieks of the mother, and the mute despair 
of the old fisherman, who had been summoned to the spot, too 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


63 


clearly corroborated the report of Lyndsay, that the lad was indeed 
dead. 

After this fresh calamity, old Jarvis appeared an altered man. 
His sinewy frame became bent and attenuated, his step fell 
feebler, his hair was bleached to snowy whiteness, and his homely, 
tanned features assumed an expression of stern and patient endur- 
ance. It was evident to Flora that his heart was breaking for the 
loss of his children. 

Neptune seemed to understand it all — ^to comprehend in the 
fullest sense his master’s loss and his present suifferings. He would 
walk slowly by the fisherman’s side, and whenever he paused in his 
unsteady, aimless ramble along the beach, Nep would thrust his 
nose into his hard brown hand, or, rearing on his hind legs, embrace 
him with his shaggy fore-paws, fiiwning and whining to attract his 
notice, and divert him from his melancholy. 

Day after day, during the long bright summer of 1831, Flora 
had watched the old man come to the spot on the beach where the 
dead body of his son first touched the shore, and stand there for 
hours, looking out over the broad sea, his eyes shaded from the 
rays of the sun by his bony, red hand, as if he expected the return 
of the lost one. During these fits of abstraction, Nep would stretch 
himself along the beach at the fisherman’s feet, his head sunk be- 
tween his fore-paws, as motionless as the statue of a dog cut out 
of stone. The moment the old man dropped the raised hand from 
his face, Nep would leap to his feet, look up wistfully into his 
master’s eyes, and follow him home. 

This touching scene had drawn tears from Flora more than once, 
and she loved the good dog for his devoted attachment to the grief- 
stricken, desolate old man. When, however, the fishing season 
returned, Jarvis roused himself from the indulgence of hopeless 
grief. The little cockle-shell of a boat was once more launched 
upon the blue sea, and Jarvis might daily be seen spreading its 
tiny white sheet to the breeze, while the noble buff Newfoundland 
dog resumed his place in the bow. 

Jarvis came regularly every day to the house to offer fish for 
sale — cod, whitings, herrings, whatever fish chance had given to 
his net. Flora was glad to observe something like cheerfulness 
once more illumine the old sailor’s face. She always greeted him 
with kind words, and inquired affectionately after his welfare ; and. 


64 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


without alluding to his heavy family afflicti ms, made him sensible 
that she deeply sympathised in liis grief. 

Things went on smoothly, until one terrible night in October, 
Jarvis and his only remaining son, a strong, powerful man of thirty, 
had been off with several experienced seamen in the pilot-boat, to 
put a pilot on board a large vessel which was toiling her way 
through the storm to London. Coming back, the wind rose to a 
gale, and the sailors, in trying to enter the harbor, ran the boat 
against one of the piers with such violence, that it upset, and the 
whole party were thrown into the water. 

Old Jarvis was an admirable swimmer, and soon gained the 
beach, as did most of the others, two of their number being rescued 
from death by the exertions of the brave dog. One alone was miss- 
ing — Harry Jarvis was the lost man. 

From that hour Flora had never seen old Jarvis or his dog. 
The boat lay high and dry upon the beach, and his net was still sus- 
pended between the poles where it had been left to dry, and she con- 
cluded that Jarvis had not survived this last terrible blow. It was 
a joyful surprise, therefore, to hear that he was not only alive, but 
pursuing his old calling. 

She found the fisherman leaning against the open kitchen-door, 
a basket of fish at his feet, and his clear grey eyes fixed vacantly 
upon the silver waves, which, flashing and murmuring in the sun- 
light, came racing to the beach below. The old sailor’s wrinkled 
face, once so ruddy and bronzed, was as white as his hair ; his 
cheeks had fallen in ; and deep hollows had gathered about his 
temples ; it was painful to observe the great alteration in his 
appearance since they last met. The old man started from his 
abstraction, as Flora’s foot sounded on the floor, and he tried to 
smile. It was a vain attempt ; his shrunken features instantly con- 
tracted into their former melancholy expression. 

“ My good old friend,” said Flora, “ I am glad to see you ; I was 
afraid you had been ill. What fish have you got for me ?” 

Eels, Madaip ; I caught them in the river. They arn’t for 
sale, but just a little present. I he’erd you wor goin’ to cross the 
salt seas to Canady, an’ I had a mind to see you agin.” 

I will accept them with pleasure, Davy, and I am very much 
obliged to you for ycur kindness. I am very fond of eels-— we get 
them so seldom, they are quite a treat. I have not seen you out in 
the boat lately, J arvis ?” 


FL^RA LYND-SAY. 


“ Maybe you’ll never see me out in l>er agin,” said the fisherman. 
“ I’m thinking my fishing days are ’most over ; boat, tackle and 
measter are all worn out together. I’ve parted with the boat, how- 
’somever. An’ as to the sea, I allers looked upon its broad face 
with pleasure, but t’has been a cruel enemy to me and mine ; my 
path, I’m thinking, will be over it no more.” 

Flora saw the tear glistening in the old man’s eye, and she tried 
to divert his attention by asking him what he had done with his 
dog — “ with dear old ‘ Nep ?’ ” 

“ I shot him.” The seaman’s thin lips quivered, and his whole 
frame trembled. “ Ay, I shot my good dog — my brave, faithful 
dog — the best, the truest friend man ever had ; an’ I’ve niver know’d 
a happy hour since.” 

The bright drops were now raining down the old man’s cheeks. 

Flora reached him a chair, and begged him to sit down. The 
fisherman mechanically obeyed, with his chin sunk between his 
hands, and his elbows resting on his knees. For some minutes 
both were silent, until the old man said, in a thick, husky voice— 

“Yes, I shot ‘ Nep’ — ^shot him with my own hand. It wor cruel 
and wicked of me to do the like, but I wor mad — stark, staring 
mad, and who’s to blame ? You see, my lady, he wor with us that 
terrible Saturday night, when we went off to put the pilot on board 
the brig Sally, from Shields. Cornin’ back it wor pitch dark, an’ 
the sea runnin’ mountains high, Sam Masters ran the boat plump 
upon the pier, an’ we wor upset on the bar. Nep saved Sam Mas- 
ters and Ben Hardy, but he let my Harry drown. I never rebelled 
agin’ the providence of Cod till then ; but I trust He’ll forgive 
what the old man said in his mortal distress. Instead of thanking 
Him, when I sor that so many wor safe, and encouragin’ Nep for 
having saved two on ’em, I cursed the dog for an ungrateful brute 
for saving strangers, an’ letting my Harry be lost. I dashed him 
off whenever he’d come whining around, to lick my hands an’ make 
friends, an’ when I got home I took down the old gun — poor 
Harry’s gun — and called Nep out upon the cliff an’ shot him dead. 

“ I repented the moment I sor him drop. It wor too late then. 

I thought that both Davy and Harry would have blamed me for 
taking the poor brute’s life — for they wor mortal fond of ’im. 
The next morning I wor up ^y daybreak, and down to the piers 
in the little boat to see if I might chance to light upon the dead 
body. 


66 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ The storm was over, an’ in rowing ’atwixt the piers, I sor 
Bummut that looked like the thing I sought, hanging, as it wor, to 
i;he planking of the pier. I steered for the place, an’, God o’ 
heaven ! it wor the body of my son ! He wor just two feet below 
the water, hanging with his head downwards. The force of the 
waves had driven him upon an iron stauncheon, which extended 
some distance from the pier ; the woodwork to which it belonged 
had been wrenched away in the storm. It had passed right through 
Harry’s body, and held him fast. And the dog — the poor dog — 
had tried to get him off ; he had dragged at his jacket and shirt- 
collar, till they wor all shred to bits, and had only given over 
when he found it of no use, an’ then did what he could to save 
the rest ! An’ I killed him — I, that should have fed and cherishec 
him to his dying day — I can never forgive myself for that.” 

“Do not distress yourself, Jarvis, in this way. No one will 
blame you for what you did in such a distracted state of mind,” 
said Flora, though she was- grieved to the heart for the death of the 
noble dog. 

“You are right — you are just right ; I was mad ; and you must 
not think hard of a poor, broken-hearted old man. My sorrow is 
’most greater than I can bear. It will not be for long ; I feel I’m 
goin’ the way of all the earth, an’ it matters little when we cast 
anchor in that port, whether our voyage wor short or long, rough 
or smooth, when the righteous Judge overhauls our vessel, an’ lays 
bare the secrets of all hearts. I trust He’ll have mercy on old Davy 
Jarvis, and forgive him for the death of his brave dog.” 

The fisherman took the eels from his basket, and gi*asping Flora’s 
hand in his hard horny palm, said, “ May the Lord grant you pros- 
perity ! an’ bless you an’ your husband an’ the little ’un, an’ bring 
you safe to the far land to which you are journeying ! May it 
prove to you a haven of rest ! God bless you ! good bye !” 

Flora looked after the drooping figure of the fisherman as he 
slowly descended the elifi*, and she thought how intense must have 
been his agony in that dark hour of utter bereavement, which had 
tempted him to sacrifice his dog on the mere supposition that he had 
neglected to save the life of his son. 

“ God comfort you ! poor Jarvis,” she said, “ and guide you in 
peace through the shadows of the dark valley that stretches its long 
night before you. The grief which has brought your grey locks ii? 
Borrow to the grave was enough to have broken a sterner heart.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


6t 


CHAPTER XI. 

FLORA, IN SEARCH OF A SERVANT, HEARS A REAL GHOST STORY. 

Lyndsay had charged Flora, during his absence, to inquire for a 
female servant, to accompany them to Canada, and take care of 
the baby during the voyage. Flora was very reluctant to obey 
this command, though she knew it was entirely on her account 
that the request was made. Her health was still very bad, and her 
kind husband was anxious to spare her any additional fatigue and 
trouble. She much doubted, however, whether another added to 
their party would not rather increase than diminish her anxiety, 
and she begged hard to be allowed to do without. To this propo- 
sition Lyndsay would not listen for a moment. 

“The thing is impossible, Flora,” said he, very impetuously, 
“ you cannot do without ; you are not able to nurse the child. J 
must insist upon your hiring a woman immediately.” 

Flora sighed. “ There will be plenty of women in the steerage 
of any emigrant vessel, who for the sake of a few dollars would 
gladly render me all the assistance I require.” 

“You must not trust to such contingencies.” 

“ But, husband dear, consider the great additional expense,” she 
said, coaxingly. 

“ Nonsense ! — that is my afiair.” 

“ I should like to have my own way in this matter,” said Flora, 
leaning her hand upon his shoulder, and trying to win him into 
compliance by sundry little caresses. I know, John, that I am 
in the right.” 

“ And those who love you. Flora, and wish to spare you fatigue 
and discomfort, are in the wrong. Is it not so ?” 

This last speech silenced his wife, but did not convince her that 
she was wrong. Flora, as my readers must long ago have discov- 
ered, was no heroine of romance, but a veritable human creature, 
subject to all the faults and weaknesses incidental to her sex. She 
wished to have her own way, and was ready to cry that she could 
not get it. Yet, had her advice been acted upon, she would have 
been spared a great deal of sorrov/ and mortification, which greatly 
embittered the first months of her sojourn in a foreign land. 

Persons emigrating to Canada cannot be guilty of a greater 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


f)8 

blunder than that of taking out servants with them, which is sure 
to end in loss and disappointment ; for they no sooner set foot upon 
the North American shores, than they suddenly become possessed 
with an ultra republican spirit. The chrysalis has burst its dingy 
shell ; they are no longer caterpillars, but gay butterflies, prepared 
to bask in the sun-blaze of popular rights. Ask such a domestic 
to blacken your shoes, clean a knife, or fetch a pail of water from 
the well at the door, and ten to one she will turn upon you as 
fierce as a lioness, and bid you do it yourself. If you are so im- 
prudent as to insist on being obeyed, she will tell you to hire 
another in her place ; she is sure of twenty situations as good as 
yours, to-morrow. 

She is right in her assertion. Her insolent rejection of your 
commands would not stand at all in her way of procuring a new 
place. And although cleaning a lady’s shoes, and bringing in a 
pail of water, or an armful of wood, is by no means such disgusts- 
ing employment as scouring greasy pots and scrubbing the floors, 
she has been told that the former is degrading work, not fit for a 
woman, and she is now in a free country, and will not submit to 
degradation. 

The mistress, who in England was termed the dear lady, now de- 
generates into the woman, while persons in their own class, and 
even beggars seeking for alms, are addressed as Ma’am and Sir. 
How particular they are in enforcing these titles from one to 
another ; how persevering in depriving their employers of any term 
of respect ! One would imagine that they not only considered 
themselves on an equality, but that ignorance and vulgarity made 
them vastly superior. It is highly amusing to watch from a dis- 
tance these self-made ladies and gentlemen sporting their borrowed 
plumes. 

Some years after she had been settled in Canada, Flora picked 
up a note which had been thrown out as waste paper, and which 
was addressed to the father of a very dirty, dishonest girl, -whom 
ihe had dismissed from her service for sundry petty frauds, a few 
weeks before. It was addressed to Edward Brady, Esq., and ran 
as follows : — 

“ Honored Sir — The company of self and la^, is respectfully 
solicited at a contribution ball, to be given next Thursday evening 
at the Three King’s Inn Dancing to commence at eight o’clock 
precisely. ^ I Patrick Malone, Esq. 

stewards, ^ Carroll, Esq.” 


FluRA lyndsay. 


69 


The parties herein named were persons of the very lowest class, 
and the titles thus pompously bestowed upon themselves, rendered 
the whole affair exquisitely ridiculous. At a contribution ball, 
each person brings a share of the entertainment. Flora’s maid had 
stolen a large quantity of sugar for her part of the feast, and was 
discovered in the act. 

In compliance with Lyndsay’s request. Flora now set diligently 
to work to inquire for a girl willing to emigrate with them to Can- 
ada, in the capacity of nurse to her baby. She had scarcely made 
her wishes public, before the cottage was beset with matrons, 
widows and maids, both old and young, all anxious to take a trip 
across the water, and try their fortunes in Canada. 

The first person who presented herself as a candidate for emi- 
gration, was a coarse, fat, she-clown, with huge red fists and cheeks, 
“ as broad and as red as a pulpit-cushion.” On being shown 
into Flora’s little parlor, she stood staring at her with her arms 
stuck in her sides, and her wide mouth distended from ear to ear, 
with a grin so truly uncouth and comic, that Mrs. Lyndsay could 
scarcely restrain her laughter ; with a downward jerk of her broad, 
shapeless person, meant for a courtesy, she burst out in a rude, 
vulgar voice — 

‘‘ He’eard, Marm, yah wanted a gurl to go with yah to Canna- 
dah?’^ 

“ I do. Who sent you up to me ?” 

“ Whoa sent oie up ? Oie sent up moiself.” 

“What is your name?” 

“ Moi neame? Is‘t moi neame yah wants to knowah? Wall, 
moi neame is Sare Ann Pack ; feather warks at Measter Turner^s.’' 

“ Have you ever worked out, or been used to take care of chil- 
dren ?” 

“ Why, yees, oie ’spect oie ha’. Moother has ten on ’em. Oie 
be the oldest on ’em. Oi’ve had nursing enoof, an’ wants to get 
quit on it.” 

“ I am afraid, Sarah, you will not suit me.” 

“ How dew yah noa, Marm, till yah tries ?” 

“ You are very slatternly, and I wanted a clean, tidy, active girl 
to nurse my baby.” 

“Sure moi does is clane enoof, and good enoof, for to live 
amongst the sadvidges ?” 

“ You’ll be put to no such trial,” said Flora, laughing, in spite 


TO 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


of herself, without you reckon me and my husband savages. Can 
you wash and iron 

‘‘ Noa. But ’spose oie cud larn.” 

What work can you do ?” 

'Spect anything yah sets oie to. Oie can make doomplings, 
milk cows, and keep the pot a bilin’.” 

“ And what wages do you expect for such services ?” 

Is it to goor to Cannadah ? Oh, oie ^spects three punds o’ 
month for the loike o’ that.” 

“ You must stop at home then, my good girl, and boil the dump- 
lings,” said Flora. “ Indeed, I cannot imagine what induced you 
to come up here to offer me your services. You literally can do 
nothing, for which you expect exorbitant wages. Why do you 
wish to leave your friends, to go out with strangers to Canada?” 

That’s moi consarn,” said the girl, with one of her gigantic 
expansions of mouth. “ Oie he’eard ’twas a mortal good place for 
maids getting married. Husbands are scarce here, so oise thought 
oise might as well try moi chance as the rest o’un. Won’t yan 
talte oie ?” Flora shook her head. 

The girl twirled the strings of her checked apron, Mayhap, yah 
won’t get aroder so willin’ to go as I’se be.” 

“ Perha|A not. But I want a person of some experience — one who 
has been used to service, and could bring a good character from her 
last employer.” 

Karaktah ! karaktah !” said the girl, contemptuously. What 
need of karaktah in such a place as Cannadah ? Folk a’ go there 
Bpoed na karaktah, or they might jeest as well bide to whome.” 

This last declaration settled the matter, and Flora, not without 
some difficulty, got rid of the promising candidate for matrimony 
and emigration. Her place was instantly supplied by a tall, hard- 
featured, middle-aged woman, who had been impatiently waiting for 
Miss Pack’s dismissal, in the kitchen, and who now rushed upon the 
scene, followed by three rude children, from six to ten years of age, 
a girl, and two impudent-looking boys, who ranged themselves in 
jront of Mrs. Lyndsay, with open mouths, and eyes distended with 
eager curiosity, in order to attract her observation, and indulge 
tnemselves in a downright stare. 

Well, my good woman, and what is your business with nv ?” 
said Flora, not at all prepossessed by any of the group. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


rx 


*‘Are you the mistress?” asked the woman, dropping a cour- 
tesy. 

Flora answered in the affirmative. 

“ My business is to go to Canady ; but I have not the means. 1 
am a poor widow ; my husband died of the fever three years ago, 
and left me with these children to drag along the best way I could. 
We have had hard times, I can tell you, Ma’am, and I should be 
main glad to better my condition, which I think 1 might do, if I 
could get out to Canady. I heard that you wanted a nurse for your 
baby during the voyage, and I should be glad to engage with you, 
if we can agree as to the terms.” 

What are your terms ?” 

“ For you. Ma’am, to pay the passage of me and the three chil- 
dren over, and I to attend upon you and the child.” 

“ But, my good woman, I have only one little child for you to 
take charge of, and you cannot expect me, for the trifling services 
that you could render, to pay your passage over, and that of your 
family.” 

“ Sure you might be glad of the chance,” said the sturdy dame. 

It is not everbody that would take service with you to go there. 
I would not trouble you longer than the voyage. I have friends 
of my own at Montreal, who have written for me to come out to 
them ; and so I would long ago, if I had had the means.” 

“ If they want you, they may pay your passage,” said Flora, 
disgusted with the selfishness of her new acquaintance. “ It would 
be less trouble to me to'nurse my own child, than incur the respon- 
sibility of three that did not belong to me.” 

The woman collected her young barbarians from the different 
quarters of the room, where they were reconnoitring the attractions 
of the place, and withdrew with a scowl ; and Flora’s nurse, Mrs. 
Clarke, shortly after entered the room, with little Josephine in her 
arms. 

“ Well, nurse,” said Flora, giving way to a hearty laugh, “ did 
you see those queer people who want me to take them out as a ven- 
ture to Canada ?” 

“ A losing speculation that would be, if we may judge by looks 
and manners,” said the old lady ; “ but, indeed, Mrs. Lyndsay, it 
will be no easy matter to find just what you want. It is not every 
one to whom I would trust the dear baby.” 

Then sitting down in the nursing chair, and hushing Josey on 


n 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


her kiiee, she continued, I have been thinking of you and the 
child a great deal since I heard you were bent on going to Canada ; 
and if you think that I could be of any service to you, I would go 
with you, myself. I ask no wages — nothing of you, beyond a home 
for my ©Id age.” 

Mrs. Clarke was a kind, amiable, good woman, but very feeble, 
nervous, and sickly, and very little qualified for the arduous and 
fatiguing life she had chosen. 

My dear nurse,” said Flora, clasping her Land in her own, “ I 
should only be too happy to have you. But you are old and in 
delicate health ; the climate would kill you ; I much doubt 
whether you could stand the voyage. I cannot be so selfish as to 
take you from your home and friends at your time of life. But 
take ofi* your hat and shawl, and we will talk the matter over.” 

The old woman laid the now sleeping babe in the cradle, and 
resumed her seat with a sigh. 

“ It is this want of a home which makes me anxious to go with 
you. It is hard to be dependent upon the caprice of brothers, in 
one’s old age. Thirty years ago and life wore for me a very differ- 
ent aspect.” 

Nurse,” said Flora, who was very fond of the good old body, 
who had attended her with the greatest care and tenderness, through 
a long and dangerous illness ; “ how comes it that such a pretty 
woman as you must have been, did not marry in your youth ? I can 
scarcely imagine that nature ever meant you for an old maid.” 

“Nature never made any woman to be an old maid,” said 
Nurse ; “ God does nothing in vain. Women were sent into the 
world to be wives and mothers ; and there are very few who don’t 
entertain the hope of being so at some period of their lives. I 
should not be the forlorn, desolate creature I am to-day, if I had 
had a snug home, and a good husband to make the fireside cheery, 
and children to gather about my knees, and make me feel young 
again, while listening to their simple prattle. 

“I thought to have been a happy wife once,” continued Nurse, 
sadly ; “a heavy calamity that broke another heart besides mine, 
laid all my hopes in the dust, and banished from my mind the idea 
of marriage for ever. Did I never tell you the story. Ma’am ? A 
few words will often contain the history of events that embittered 
a whole life. Whilst I am hemming this little pinafore for Miss 
Josey, I will tell you the tale of my early grief. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


7a 


“ My father was a native of this town, and captain of a small 
vessel employed in the coal-trade, which plied constantly between 
this port and Newcastle and Shields. He owned most of the 
shares in her, was reckoned an excellent sailor, and was so fortu- 
nate as to have escaped the usual dangers attendant upon the coast 
trade, never having been wrecked in his life, — which circumstance 
had won for him the nickname of ‘ Lucky Billy,’ by which he was 
generally known in all the seaport towns along the coast. 

“ I was the eldest of a large family, and the only girl. My 
mother died when I was fourteen years of age, and all the cares 
of the household early devolved upon me ; my father was very fond 
of me, and so proud of my good looks, that his ship was christened 
the Pretty Betsy , in honor of me. 

“ Father not only earned a comfortable living, but saved enough 
to build those two neat stone cottages on the East-cliff. We lived 
in the one which my brother now occupies ; the other, which is 
divided from it by a narrow alley, into which the back doors of 
both open, was rented for many years by the widow of a revenue 
officer and her two sons. 

“Mrs. Arthur’s husband had been killed in a fray with the 
smugglers, and she enjoyed a small government pension, which 
enabled her to bring up her boys decently, and maintain a respect- 
able appearance. My father tried his best to induce Mrs. Arthur 
to be his second wife, but she steadily refused his offer, though the 
family continued to live on terms of the strictest friendship. 

“ Mrs. Arthur’s sons, John and David, were the handsomest and 

cleverest lads of their class, between this and the port of Y . 

They both followed the sea, and after serving their apprenticeships 
with my father, John got the command of the Nancy, a new vessel 
that was employed in the merchant trade, and made short voyages 
between this and London. David, who was two years younger, 
sailed with his brother as mate of the Nancy. 

“ David and I had been sweethearts from our school-days — from a 
child in frocks and trowsers,he had always called me “ his dear little 
wife.” Time only strengthened our attachment to each other, 
and my father and his mother were well-pleased with the match. 
It was settled by all parties, that we were to be married directly 
David could get captain of a ship. 

“ Mrs. Arthur was very proud of her sons ; but David, who was 
by far the handsomest of the^two, was her especial favorite. I never 

4 


74 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


saw the young sailor leave the house without kissing his mother oi 
return from a voyage without bringing her a present. I used to 
tell him, ‘ there was only one person he loved better than me, and 
that was his mother and he would laugh, and say, — ‘ Not better 
Betsy — but ’tis a different love altogether.* 

“ I must confess I was rather jealous of his mother. 1 did not 
wish him to love her less, but to love me more. Whenever he left 
us for sea, he used to tell me, the very last thing, ‘ Show your love to 
me, dear Betsy, by being kind to my dear old mother. When you 
are my wife, I will repay it with interest.* 

“During his absence, I always went every day to see Mrs. Ar- 
thur, and to render her any service in my power. She was very 
fond of me — always calling me ‘ her little daughter — her own dear 
Betsy.* Her conversation was always about her sons, and David 
in particular, which rendered these visits very agreeable to me, who 
loved David better than anything else under heaven. He was 
never out of my thoughts, I worshipped him so completely. 

“ It was the latter end of February that the Arthurs made 
their last voyage together. David was to sail as captain, in a fine 
merchant-ship, the first of May ; and everything had been arranged 
for our marriage, which was to take place the tenth of April ; and 
I was to make a bridal tour to London with my husband in the 
new ship. I was wild with anticipation and delight, and would let 
my work drop from my hands twenty times a day, with building 
castles for the future. No other girl’s husband would be able to 
rival my husband ; no home could be as happy as my home : no 
bride so well beloved as me. 

“ It was the twentieth of March, 18 — ; I recollect it as well 
as if it were only yesterday. The day was bright, clear, and cold, 
with high winds and a very stormy sea. The Nancy had been ex- 
pected to make her port all that week, and Mrs. Arthur was very 
uneasy at her delay. She was never happy or contented when her 
sons were at sea, but in a constant .fidget of anxiety and fear. She 
did not like both sailing in the same vessel. ‘ It is too much.’ she 
would say — ‘ the safety of two lives out of one family — to be trust- 
ed to one keel. This morning she was more fretful and nervous 
than usual.” 

“ * What can those foolish boys be thinking of, Betsy, to delay 
their voyage in this way ? They will in all probability be caught 
in the equinoctial gales. David promised me faithfully to be back 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


5 


before the eighteenth. Dear me 1 how the wind blows ! The very 
sound of it is enough to chill one’s heart. What a stormy sea ! I 
hope they will not sail till the day after to-morrow.’ 

“ Now, I felt a certain conviction in my own mind that they had 
sailed, and were at that moment on the sea ; but, I must confess, 
I apprehended no danger. It might be that her fears hindered me 
from indulging fears of my own. 

“ ‘ Don’t alarm yourself needlessly, dear Mother,’ said I, kissing 
her cold, pale cheek. ‘ The Nancy is a new ship — the lads brave, 
experienced sailors. There is not the least cause for uneasiness. 
They have weathered far worse gales before now. They have, 
father says, the wind and tide in their favor. It is moonlight now 
o’ nights ; and I hope we shall see them merry and weP before 
morning.’ 

‘‘ * God grant you may be right, Betsy ! A mother’s heart 
is a ho1>bed of anxiety. Mine feels as heavy as lead. My 
dreams, too, were none of the brightest. I thought I was tossing 
in an open boat, in just such a stormy sea all night ; and was 
constantly calling on David to save me from drowning ; and I 
awoke shrieking, and struggling with the great billows that were 
dragging me down.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Who cares for dreams ?’ I said. Her’s, I would have it, was 
one of good omen ; for, though she fought with the storm all night, 
she was not drowned. So it would be with the lads : they might 
encounter a gale, and get a severe buffeting, but would arrive safe 
at last. 

“ ‘ I wish it may be so,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘ But I felt just 
the same sinking at the heart the night my husbaQ^ was killed, 
when there appeared no cause for uneasiness.’ 

“ I remained all day with the old lady, trying to raise her spirits. 
She paid very little attention to all my lively chat ; but would 
stand for hours at her back- window, that commanded a view of the 
bay, gazing at the sea. The huge breakers came rolling and toiling 
to the shore, filling the air with their hoarse din. A vessel hove 
in sight, running under close-reefed topsails, and made signals for a 
pilot. 

“ ‘ Ah !’ I exclaimed, joyfully ; * that is Captain Penny’s old 
ship, Molly. If she has rode out the gale, you may dismiss your 
fears about the Nancy. They have launched the pilot-boat. vSee 
how she dances like a father on the waves ! Why, Mother, dear 


76 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


I cj’ied, turning to Mrs. Arthur, who was watching the boat, with 
the large tears trickling down her cheeks, is it not weak, almost 
wicked of you, to doubt God’s providence in this way V 

“ ‘ Ah I how I wish it were their vessel !” she sobbed. 

“ ‘ Captain Penny’s wife and children would not thank you for 
that wish,’ said I. ‘ How glad I am that the good old man is 
safe !” 

“ The day wore away — a long day for us both. The gale did 
not increase, and Mrs. Arthur at last began to listen to reason. 
The moon rose high and bright ; and after seeing the old lady to 
her bed, I went home to give my father and the boys their supper. 

“ I found father very cross for having waited so long. ‘ What 
the devil, Betsy !’ cried he, ‘ kept you so late ? The lads and I 
have been starving for the last hour. When girls get sweethearts, 
they can think of nothing else.’ 

“ ‘ Mrs. Arthur felt anxious about her sons, and I stayed with 
her.’ 

“ ‘What’s the old fool afraid of? This capful of wind. Penny’s . 
old Molly rode it ouf bravely. He told me he left the Arthurs in 
the river. He thought they would be in by daybreak. Come, be 
quick, girl ! As I am to lose you so soon, I would make the most 
of you while you belong to me.’ 

“ His cheerful, hearty manner helped to raise my spirits, which 
had been depressed by Mrs. Arthur’s fretful anticipations of evil. 

I bustled hither and thither, laughed and sung, and cooked father’s 
mess of fresh fish so much to his satisfaction, that he declared I 
should make a jewel of a wife, and that he had not made up his 
mind whether he would part with such a good cook. Without he 
married again, he was afraid he would not get such another. 

“‘You must be quick, then,’ said I, ‘ or you will not have me 
for your bridesmaid. I give you just three weeks for the court- 
ship, for I shan’t remain single one day longer to cook the wedding 
dinner for you.’ 

“ ‘ You are saucy,’ said he, filling his pipe. ‘ Davy will have to 
take the helm himself, if he would keep you on the right tack. 
Clear the decks now, and be off to your bed. If the gale lulls, I 
shall sail early in the morning.’ 

“ I removed the supper-things, and before I lighted my candle, 
lingered for a few minutes at the back window, to take a last view 
of the sea. It was a stormy ,.but very beautiful night. The heavens 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


71 


were witnoxit a cloud. The full moon cast broken gleams of silver 
upon tlie restless, tossing waters, which scattered them into a thou- 
sand fragments of dazzling brightness, as the heavy surf rolled in 
thunder against the beach. 

“ ‘ Has the gale freshened, father?’ said I, anxiously. 

“ ‘ Not a bit of it. Say your prayers, Betsy, and trust in 
Providence. Your lover is as safe in his good ship to-night, as in 
his bed at home.’ 

‘‘ He pulled me on to his knee, and kissed me, and I went up to 
bed with a lighter heart. 

“ A few minutes later I was fast asleep. I don’t know how long 
this sleep lasted, but I awoke with hearing David Arthur calling 
beneath my window. His mother’s window and mine both fronted 
the cliff, and were in a line with each other. ‘ Thank God ! David 
is safe !’ I cried, as I sprang joyfully from my bed, and threw open 
the casement. 

“ There he was, sure enough, standing in the moonlight, directly 
beneath the window — ^his norwester flung far back on his head, 
his yellow curls hanging in wet masses on his shoulders, and his 
clothes dripping with the salt spray. The moon shone forth on 
his upturned face. He looked very pale and cold, and his eyes 
were fixed intently upon his mother’s chamber-window. Before I 
could speak, he cried out, in his rich, manly tones — 

‘ Mother, dearest mother, I am come home to you. Open the 
door, and let me in !’ 

“ ‘ Stay, Davy, darling — stay one moment, and I will let you in. 
Your mother’s asleep ; but I can open the back-door with my key. 
Oh I I’m so happy, so thankful, that you are safe.’ 

“ I threw my clothes on as fast as I could, but my hands trembled 
BO from excitement, that I could scarcely fasten a string. A cold 
chill was creeping through my whole frame, and, in spite of the 
joy I felt, I involuntarily burst into tears. Dashing away the 
unwelcome drops with the back of my hand, I bounded down the 
stairs, unlocked the back-door that led into the alley, and in 
another moment stood alone on the cliff. 

“‘David, where are you?’ I cried. But no David was there. 
I glanced all round the wide, open space : not an object was mov- 
ing over its surface. A deep stillness reigned all around, only 
interrupted by th^ solemn thunder of the waters, whose hollow 


t8 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


surging against the shore rendered the solitude of the midnight 
hour more profound. 

Again I felt those cold chills steal through me — again the 
unbidden tears streamed down my cheeks. 

“ ‘ What can have become of him?' saii I, quite bewildered with 
surprise and fear ; ‘ he must have got in at the back window ! — I 
will go to his mother — I shall find him with her !’ 

The key I held in my hand fitted both locks : I went into Mrs. 
Arthur’s, lighted the candle that I had left on her kitchen dresser^ 
and went up to her chamber. She started up in the bed as I opened 
the door. 

^ Good God ! Betsy,’ she cried, ‘ is that you ? I thought I 
heard David call me.’ 

‘ And so he did,’ I said ; ‘ he came under the window just now, 
and called to you to let him in. I told him to wait till I could 
dress myself, and I would come down and open the door. Is he 
not here V 

‘‘‘No,’ said his mother, her face turning as white as her cap ; 
' you must have been dreaming.’ 

“ ‘ Dreaming !’ said I, rather indignantly ; ‘ you need not try to 
persuade me out of my senses — I saw him with my own eyes ! — 
heard him with my own ears I and spoke to him ! What else will 
convince you ? He has gone back to the ship for J ohn — I will 
breeze up the fire, put on the kettle, and get something cooked for 
their supper. After buffeting about in this storm, they will be cold 
and hungry.’ 

“ Mrs. Arthur soon joined me. She could not believe that I had 
spoken to David, though she fancied that she had heard him her- 
self, and was in a fever of anxiety, pacing to and fro the kitchen 
floor, and opening the door every minute to look out. I felt almost 
provoked by her want of faith. 

“ ‘ If the ship were in,’ she muttered, ‘ he would have been in long 
ago, to tell me that all was safe. He knows how uneasy I always 
am when he and his brother are away. Betsy must have been 
deceived.’ 

“ ‘ Mother, dear — indeed, what I tell you is true !’ 

“ And I repeated to her for the twentieth time, perhaps, what 
David had said, and described his appearance. 

“ Hour after hour passed away, but no well-known footstep, or 
dearly-loved voiced, distirbed our lonely vigil. The kettle sim 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


79 


mered drowsily on the hob ; Mrs. Arthur, tired out with impatient 
fretting at her son’s delay, had thrown her apron over her head, 
and was sobbing bitterly. I began to feel alarmed ; a strange fear 
seemed growing upon my heart, which almost led me to doubt the 
evidence of my senses — to fancy, in fact, that what I had seen 
might have been a dream. But, was I not there, wide awake 1 
Had not his mother heard him speak as well as me? though her 
half-waking state had rendered the matter less distinct than it had 
been to me ? I was not going to be reasoned out of my sanity in 
that way, because he did not choose to wait until I came down to 
open the door — which I thought rather unkind, when he must be 
well aware that my anxiety for his safety must quite equal that 
of his mother. 

“ The red beams of the rising sun were tinging the white foam 
of the billows with a flush of crimson. The gale had lulled ; and 1 
knew that ray father’s. vessel sailed with the tide. I started from 
my seat ; Mrs. Arthur languidly raised her head — 

“ ‘ My dear Betsy, will you just run across the cl iff to the look- 
out house, and ask the sailors there if the Nancy came in last 
night? I cannot bear the suspense much longer.’ 

“ ‘ I might have thought of that before,’ I said ; and, without 
waiting for hat or shawl, I sped my way to the nearest station. 

“I found one old sailor kneeling upon the bench, looking intently 
through his telescope at some object at sea. My eyes followed the 
direction of the glass, and I saw distinctly, about two miles beyond 
the east cliff, a vessel lying dismasted upon the reef, with the sea 
breaking continually over her. 

“ ‘ What vessel is that, Ned Jones ?’ said I. 

“ ‘ It’s the Nancy,’ he replied, without taking his eye from the 
glass. ‘I know her by the white stripe along her black hull. 
She’s a perfect wreck, and both the brave lads are drowned.’ 

“ ‘ When did this happen ?’ I cried, shaking his arm frantically. 

“ ‘ She struck upon the reef at half-past one this morning. Our 
lads got the boat off, but too late to save the crew.’ 

“ ‘ Good God !’ I cried, reeling back, as if struck with a bolt 
of ice ; and the same deadly-cold shiver ran through me. ‘ It was 
his ghost, then, I saw !’ * 


♦ I have told the story exactly as it was told to me by Flora’s nurse. Th< 
reader must judge how far the young girl’s imagination may have deceived her 
Whether as a dream, or a reality, I have no doubt of the truth of her tale. 


80 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


I don’t know how I got back to Mrs. Arthur. I never knew ; 
or, whether it was from me she learned the terrible tidings of the 
death of her sons. I fell into a brain fever, and when I recovered 
my senses, Mrs. Arthur had been in her grave for some weeks. 

“ In thinking over the events of that fearful night, the recollec- 
tion which pained me most was, that David’s last thought had been 
for his mother — ^that during his death-struggle, she was dearer to 
him than me. It haunted me for years. At times it haunts me 
still. Whenever the wind blows a gale, and the moon shines clear 
and cold, I fancy I can see him standing below my window, in his 
dripping garments, and that sad, pale face turned towards his 
mother’s casement ; and I hear him call out, in the rich, mellow 
voice I loved so well, ‘ Mother, dearest mother, I have come home 
to you. Open the door and let me in I’ 

“ It was a dream, nurse,” said Flora. 

But supposing, Mrs. Lyndsay, that it was a dream. Is it less 
strange that such a dream should occur at the very moment, per- 
haps, that he was drowned ; and that his mother should fancy she 
heard him speak as well as I ?” 

“ True,” said Flora, the mystery remains the same ; and, for my 
own part, I never could get rid of a startling reality, because some 
people choose to call it a mere coincidence. My faith embraces the 
spirit of the fact, and disclaims the coincidence ; though, after all, 
the coincidence is the best proof of the fact. 

“ This event,” continued Nurse, cast a shadow over my life, 
which no after sunshine ever dispelled. I never loved again, and 
gave up all thoughts of getting married from that hour. Perhaps 
I was wrong, for I refused several worthy men, who would have 
given me a comfortable home ; and I should not now, at my time 
of life, have to go out nursing, or be dependent upon a cross brother 
for the shelter of a roof. If you will take me to Canada with 
you, I only ask in return a home in my old age.” 

Flora was delighted with the project, but on writing about it to 
her husband, she found him unwilling to take out a feeble old wo- 
man, who was very likely to die on the voyage ; and Flora, with 
reluctance, declined the good woman’s offer. 

It happened very unfortunately for Flora, that her mother had 
in her employment a girl, whose pretty feminine face and easy 
pliable manners, had rendered her a great favorite in the family. 
Whenever Flora visited the Hall, Hannah had taken charge of the 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


81 


baby, on whom she lavished the most endearing epithets and 
caresses. 

This girl had formed an imprudent intimacy with a farm servant 
in the neighborhood, which had ended in her seduction. Her situa- 
tion rendered marriage a matter of necessity In this arrangement 
of the matter, it required both parties should agree ; and the man, 
who doubtless knew more of the girl’s real character than her be- 
nevolent mistress, flatly refused to make her his wife. Hannah, in 
an agony of rage and contrition, had confided her situation to her 
mistress, and implored her not to turn her from her doors, or she 
would end her misery in self-destruction. 

“ She had no home,” she said, in the wide world — and she dared 
not return to her aunt, who was the only friend she had ; and who, 
under existing circumstances, she well knew, would never afford 
her the shelter of her roof.” 

Simple as this girl appeared, she knew well how to act her part ; 
and so won upon the compassion of Mrs. W , that she was de- 

termined, if possible, to save her from ruin. Finding that Mrs. 
Lyndsay had failed in obtaining a servant, she applied to her on 
Hannah’s behalf, and requested, as a favor, that she would take the 
forlorn creature with her to Canada. 

Flora at first rejected the proposal in disgust : in spite of Mrs. 

W ’s high recommendation, there was something about the 

woman she did not like ; and much as she was inclined to pity her, 
she could not reconcile herself to the idea of making her the com- 
panion of her voyage. She could not convince herself that Han- 
nah was worthy of the sympathy manifested on her behalf. A cer- 
tain fawning servility of manner, led her to imagine that she was 
deceitful ; and she was reluctant to entail upon herself the trouble 
and responsibility which must arise from her situation, and the 
scandal it might involve. But her objections were borne down by 
Mrs. W ’s earnest entreaties to save, if possible, a fellow-crea- 

ture from ruin. 

The false notions formed by most persons in England of the 

state of society in Canada, made Mrs. W reject, as mere bug 

bears, all Flora’s fears as to the future consequences which might 
arise from her taking such a hazardous step. What had she to 
fftar from ill-natured gossip in a barbarous country, so thinly peo- 
pled that settlers seldom resided within a day’s journey of each 
other. If the girl was wise enough to keep her own secret, who 

4 ^: 


82 


FLORA LYNRSAY. 


would take the trouble to find it out? Children were a blessing in 
Ruch a wilderness ; and Hannah’s child, brought up in the family, 
would be very little additional expense and trouble, and might 
prove a most attached and grateful servant, forming a lasting tie 
of mutual benefit between the mother and her benefactress. The 
mother was an excellent worker, and, until this misfortune hap- 
pened, a good and faithful girl. She was weak^ to be sure ; but 

then (what a fatal mistake) the more easily managed. Mrs. W 

was certain that Flora would find her a perfect treasure. 

All this sounded very plausible in theory, and savored of ro- 
mance. Flora found it in the end a dismal reality. She consented 
to receive the girl as her servant, who was overjoyed at the change 
in her prospects, declaring that she never could do enough for 
Lyndsay, for snatching her from a life -of disgrace and infamy. 
And so little J osey was provided with a nurse, and Flora with a 
servant. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE LAST HOURS AT HOME. 

To BID farewell to her mother and sisters, and the dear home of 
her childhood, Flora regarded as her greatest trial. As each suc- 
ceeding day brought nearer the hour of separation, the prospect 
became more intensely painful, and fraught with a thousand melan- 
choly anticipations, which haunted her even in sleep ; and she often 
awoke sick and faint at heart with the tears she had shed in a 
dream. 

“ Oh that this dreadful parting were over !” she said to her friend 
Mary Parnell. I can contemplate, with fortitude, the trials of 
hie future ; but there is something so dreary, so utterly hopeless, in 
this breaking up of kindred ties and home associations, that it par- 
alyses exertion.” 

Mrs. W , Flora’s mother, was in the decline of life, and it 

was more than probable that the separation would be for ever. 
This Flora felt very grievously ; — she loved her mother tenderly, 

and she could not bear to leave her. Mrs. W was greatly 

attached to her little grandchild ; and, to mention the departure 0/ 
the child, brought on a paroxysm of grief. 

“ Let Josey stay with me. Flora,” said she, as she covered its 


FLORi LYNDSAY. 


83 


dimpled hands with kisses. “ Let me not lose you both in one 
day.” 

What ! part with my child — my only child ! Deai*est mother, 
it is impossible to grant your request. Whatever our future for- 
tunes may be, she must share them with us. I could not bear up 
against the trials which await me with a divided heart.” 

Consider the advantage it would be to the child.” 

In the loss of both her parents ?” 

“ In her exemption from hardship, and the education she would 
receive.” 

I grant all that ; yet Nature points out that the interests of a 
child cannot safely be divided from those of its parents.” 

“ You argue selfishly. Flora. You well know the child would 
be much better off with me.” 

“ I speak from my heart — the heart of a mother, which cannot, 
without it belongs to a monster, plead against the welfare of her 
child. I know how dearly you love her — how painful it is for you 
to give her up ; and that she would possess with you those com- 
forts which, for her sake, we are about to resign. But, if we leave 
her behind, we part with her for ever. She is too young to remem- 
ber us ; and, without knowing us, how could she love us ?” 

She would be taught to love you.” 

Her love would be of a very indefinite character. She would 
be told that she had a father and mother in a distant land, and be 
taught to mention us daily in her prayers. But where would be 
the faith, the endearing confidence, the holy love, with which a 
child, brought up under the parental roof, regards the authors of its 
being. The love which falls like dew from heaven upon the weary 
heart, which forms a balm for every sorrow, a solace for every 
care — without its refreshing influence, what would the wealth of 
the world be to us ?” 

Flora’s heart swelled, and her eyes filled with tears. Tlie elo- 
quence of an angel at that moment would have failed in persuading 
her to part with her child. 

Never did these painful feelings press more heavily on Flora’s 
mind, than when all was done in the way of preparation — wdien 
her work was all finished, her trunks all packed, her little bills ic 
the town all paid, her faithful domestics discharged, and nothing 
remained of active employment to hinder her from perpetually 
brooding over the sad prospect before her. She went to spend a 


84 


F\ORA LYNDSAY. 


last day at the old Hall, to bid farewell to :he old familiar hauntj 
endeared to her from childhood. 

“ Flora, you must keep up your spirits,” said her mother, kiss- 
ing her tenderly ; nor let this parting weigh too heavily upon your 
heart. We shall all meet again.” 

“ In heaven, I hope. Mother.” 

Yes, and on earth.” 

“Oh, no; it is useless to hope for that. No, never again on 
earth.” 

“ Always hope for the best. Flora ; it is my plan. I have found 
it true wisdom. Put on your bonnet, and take a ramble through 
the garden and meadows ; it will refresh you after so many harrass- 
ing thoughts. Your favorite trees are in full leaf, the hawthorn 
hedges in blossom, and the nightingales sing every evening in the 
wood-lane. You cannot feel miserable among such sights and 
sounds of beauty in this lovely month of May, or you are not the 
same Flora I ever knew you.” 

“ Ah, just the same faulty, impulsive, enthusiastic creature I 
ever was, dear mother. No change of circumstances v/ill, I fear, 
change my nature ; and the sight of these dear old haunts will only 
deepen the regret I feel at bidding them adieu.” 

Flora put on her bonnet, and went forth to ta.ke a last look of 
home. 

The Hall was an old-fashioned house, large, rambling, picturesque 
and cold. It had been built in the first year of good Queen Bess. 
The back part of the mansion appeared to have belonged to a 
period still more remote. The building was surrounded by fine 
gardens and lawn-like meadows, and stood sheltered within a grove 
of noble old trees. It was beneath the shade of these trees and 
reposing upon the velvet-like sward at their feet, that Flora had firet 
indulged in those delicious reveries — those lovely, ideal visions of 
beauty and perfection — which cover with a tissue of morning beamsf 
all the rugged highways of life. Silent bosom friends were those 
dear old trees ! Every noble sentiment of her soul, every fault that 
threw its baneful shadow on the sunlight of her mind — had been 
fostered, or grown upon her, in those pastoral solitudes. Those 
trees had witnessed a thousand bursts of passionate eloquence — a 
thousand gushes of bitter, heart-humbling tears. To them had been 
revealed all the joys and sorrows, the hopes and fears, which she 
could not confide to the sneering and u isympathising of her own 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


85 


eex. The soleran dniidical groves were not more holy to their 
imaginative and mysterious worshippers, than were those old oaks 
to the young Flora, 

Now the balmy breath of spring, as it gently heaved the tender 
green masses of brilliant foliage, seemed to utter a voice of thrill- 
ing lamentation — a sad, soul-touching farewell. 

“ Home of my childhood ! must I see you no more ?” sobbed 
Flora. “ Are you to become to-morrow a vision of tlie past? 0 
that the glory of spring was not upon the earth ! that 1 had to 
leave you amid winter’s chilling gloom, and not in this lovely, 
blushing month of May! The emerald green of these meadows — 
the gay flush of these bright blossoms — the joyous song of these 
glad birds — breaks my heart !” 

And the poor emigrant sank down amid the green grass, and, 
burying her face among the fragrant daisies, imprinted a passionate 
kiss upon the sod, which was never, in time or eternity, to form a 
resting-place for her again. 

But a beam is in the dark cloud even for thee, poor Flora ; thou 
heart-sick lover of nature. Time will reconcile thoe to the change 
which now appears so dreadful. The human flowers destin(3d to 
spring around thy hut in that far-off wilderness, will gladden thy 
bosom in the strange land to which thy course now tends ; and the 
image of God, in his glorious a'eation, will smile upon thee as 
graciously in the woods of Canada, as it now does in thy English 
paradise. Yes, the hour will come when you shall exclaim with 
fervor — 

“ Thank God, I am the denizen of a free land ; a land of beauty 
and progression — a land unpolluted by the groans of starving 
millions — a land which opens her fostering arms to receive and 
restore to his long-lost birthright, the trampled and abused child 
of poverty : to bid him stand up, a free inheritor of a free soil, who 
so long labored for a scanty pittance of bread, as an ignorant and 
degraded slave, in the country to which you now cling with such 
passionate fondness, and leave with such heart-breaking regret. 

When Flora returned from an extensive ramble through all her 
favorite walks, she was agreeably surprised to find her husband 

conversing with Mrs. W in the parlor. The unexpected sight 

of her husband, who had returned to cheer her some days sooner 
than tne oae h^ had named in his letters, soon restored Flora’g 


86 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


spirits, and the sorrows of the future were forgotten in the joys o* 
the present. 

Lyndsay had a thousand little incidents and anecdotes to relate 
of his visit to the great metropolis ; to which Flora was an eager 
and delighted listener. He told her that he had satisfactorily 
arranged all his pecuniary matters ; and without sacrificing his half- 
pay, was able to take out about three hundred pounds sterling, which 
he thought, prudently managed, would enable him to make a tolerably 
comfortable settlement in Canada, particularly as he would not be 
obliged to purchase a farm, being entitled to a grant of four hun- 
dred acres of wild land. 

He had engaged a passage in a fine vessel that was to sail from 
Leith, at the latter end of the week. 

“ I found that, ifi going from Scotland,” said Lyndsay, “ we could 
be as well accommodated for nearly half price ; and it would give 
you the opportunity of seeing Edinburgh, and me the melancholy 
satisfaction of taking a last look at the land of my birth. 

“ One of the London steamers will call for us to-morrow morning 
on her way to Scotland, and I must hire a boat to-night, and get 
our luggage prepared for a start. A short notice, dear Flora, to 
a sad, but inevitable necessity, I thought better for a person of your 
temperament, than a long and tedious anticipation of evil. Now 
all is prepared for the voyage, delay is not only useless, but dtinger- 
ous. So cheer up, darling, and be as happy and cheerful as you 
can. Let us spend the last night at home pleasantly together.” 
He kissed Flora so affectionately, as he ceased speaking, that she 
not only promised obedience, but contrived to smile through her 
tears. 

It was necessary for them to return instantly to the cottage, and 
Flora took leave of her mother, with a full heart. We will not 
dwell on such partings ; they 

“ Wring the blood from out young hearts,^* 

as the poet has truly described them, making the snows of age 
descend upon the rose-crowned brow of youth. 

Sorrowfully Flora returned to her pretty little cottage, which 
presented a scene of bustle and confusion baffling description. 
Everything was out of place and turned upside down. Corded 
trunks and packages filled up the passages and doorways : and 
formed stumbling-blocks for kind friends and curious neighbors, 


ri.OKA LYXDSAY. 


S’! 

who crowded tiio house. Strange dogs forced their way in aftei 
their masters, and fought and yelped in undisturbed pugnacity. 
The baby cried, and no one was at leisure to pacify her, and » 
cheerless and uncomfortable spirit filled the once peaceful and 
happy home. 

Old Captain Kitson was in his glory ; hurrying here and there, 
ordering, superintending, aud assisting the general confusion, with- 
out in the least degree helping on the work. He had taken upop 
himself the charge of hiring the boat which was to convey the emh 
grants on board the steamer ; and he stood chafiering on the lawn 
for a couple of hours with the sailors, to whom she belonged, to 
induce them to take a shilling less than the sum proposed. 

Tired with the altercation, and sorry for the honest tars, Lynd- 
say told the master of the boat to yield to the old Captain’s terms, 
and he would make up the difference. The sailor answered with a 
knowing wink, and appeared reluctantly to consent to old Kitson’s 
wishes. 

“There, Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear, I told you these fellows would 
come to my terms rather than lose a good customer,” cried the old 
man, rubbing his hands together in an ecstasy of self-gratulation. 
“ Leave me to make a bargain ; the rogues cannot cheat me with their 

d d impositions. The Leaftenant is too soft with these chaps ; 

I’m an old sailor — they can’t come over me. I have made them 
take one pound for the use of their craft, instead of one and twenty 
shillings. ‘ Take care of the pence,’ my dear, ‘ and the pounds will 
take care of themselves.’ I found that out, long before poor Richard 
marked it down in his log.” 

Then sideling up to Flora, and putting his long nose into her 
face, he whispered in her ear — 

“ Now, my dear gall, don’t be offended with an old friend ; but if 
you have any old coats or hats that Leaftenant Lyndsay does not 
think worth packing up, I shall be very glad of them, for my 
Charles. Mrs. K. is an excellent hand at transmogrifying things, 
»nd in a large family such articles never come amiss.” 

Charles was the Captain’s youngest son — a poor idiot, who, 
Thirty years of age, had the appearance of an overgrown boy. The 
other members of the Captuin’s large family were all married and 
settled prosperously in the world. Flora felt truly ashamed of the 
old man’s meanness, but was glad to repay his trifling services in a 
way suggested by himself. The weather for the last three weeks had 


88 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


been nniisually line, but towards the evening of this memorable 30th 
of May, large masses of clouds began to rise in the northwest, and 
the sea changed its azure hue to a dull, leaden grey. Old Kitsor. 
shook his head prophetically. 

“ There’s a change of weather at hand, Mrs. Lyndsay ; you may 
look out for squalls before six o’clock to-morrow. The wind shifts 
every minute, and there’s an ugly swell rolling in upon the shore.” 

“ Ah, 1 hope it will be fine,” said Flora, looking anxiously up at 
the troubled sky ; it is so miserable to begin a long journey in the 
rain. Perhaps it will pass off during the night in a thunder- 
shower.” 

The old man whistled, shut one eye, and looked knowingly at 
the sea with the other. 

‘‘Women know about as much of the weather as your nurse 
does of handling a rope. Whew ! but there’s a gale coming ; I ’ll 
down to the beach, and tell the lads to haul up the boats and make 
all snug before it bursts,” and away toddled the old man, mil of 
the importance of his mission. 

It was the last night at home — the last social meeting of kindred 
friends on this side the grave. Flora tried to appear cheerful, but the 
forced smile upon the tutored lips, rendered doubly painful the tears 
kept back in the swollen eyes — the vain effort of the sorrowful in 
heart to be gay. 

Alas ! for the warm hearts, the generous friendships, the kindly 
greetings of dear old England, when would they l)e htvs again ? 
Flora’s friends at length took leave, and she was left with her hus- 
band alone. 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

THE DEPARTURE. 

It was the dawn of day when Flora started from a broken, 
feverish sleep, aroused to consciousness by the heavy roaring' of the 
sea, as the huge billows thundered against the stony beach. To 
spring from her bed and draw back the curtains of the winnow 
which commanded a full view of the bay, was but the work or a 
moment. How quickly she let it fall in despair over the riieeriess 
prospect it presented to her sight ! Far as the eye could reach, the 
sea was covered with foam. Not a sail was visible, and a dark, 
leaden sky was pouring down torrents of rain. 


FLORA LYNDSAV. 


89 


Wliat a morning !” she muttered to herself, as she stole quietly 
back to bed. “ It will be impossible to put to sea to-day.” 

The sleep which had shunned her pillow during the greater part 
of the night, gently stole over her, and “ wrapped her senses in for- 
getfulness : ” and old Kitson, two hours later, twice threw a peb- 
ble against the window, before she awoke. 

“ Leaf tenant Lyndsay — Leaf tenant Lyndsay !” shouted the Cap- 
tain in a voice like a speaking-trumpet — “ wind and tide wait for 
no man. Up and be doing.” 

“ Ah, ah,” responded Lyndsay, rubbing his eyes, and going to 
the window. 

“ See what a storm the night has been brewing for you !” con- 
tinued old Kitson. “ It blows great guns, and there’s rain enough 
to float Noah’s ark. Waters is here, and wants to see you. He 
says that his small craft won’t live iii a sea like this. You’ll have 
to put off your voyage till the steamer takes her next trip.” 

“ That’s bad,” said Lyndsay, hurrying on his clothes, and join- 
ing the old sailor on the lawn. “ Is iliere any chance, Kitson, of 
this holding up ?” 

“ None. This is paying us off for three weeks fine weather, and 
may last for several days-— at all events, till night. The steamer 
will be rattling down in an hour, with the wind and tide in her 
favor. Were you once on board. Leaf tenant, you might snap your 
fingers at this capful of wind.” 

“We must make up our minds to lose our places,” said Lyndsay, 
in a tone of deep vexation. 

“You have taken your places then?” 

“ Yes ; and made a deposit of half the passage money.” 

“ Humph ! Now, Leaf tenant Lyndsay, that’s a thing I never do. 
I always take my chance. I would rather lose my place in a boat, 
or a coach, than lose my money. But young fellows like you never 
learn wisdom. Experience is all thrown away upon you. But as 
we can’t remedy the evil now, we had better step in and get a mor- 
sel of breakfast. This raw air makes one hungry. The wind may 
lull by that time.” Then gazing at the sky with one of his keen 
orbs, while he shaded with his hand the other, he continued — “ It 
rains too hard for it to blow long at this rate ; and the season of 
the year is all in your favor. Go in — go in, and get something to 
eat, and we wiF settle over your wife’s good coffee what is best to 
be done.” 


90 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Lyndsay thought with the Captain, that the storm would abater 
aiid he returned to the anxious Flora, to report the aspect of 
things without. 

“ It is a bad omen,” said Flora, pouring out tlie coffee. “ If we 
may judge of the future by the present — it looks dark enough.” 

“ Don’t provoke me into anger. Flora, by talking in such a child- 
ish manner, and placing reliance upon an exploded superstition. 
Women are so fond of prognosticating evil, that I believe they are 
disappointed if it does not happen as they say.” 

“ Well, reason may find fault with us if she will,” said Flora'; 

but we are all more or less influenced by these mysterious presen- 
timents ; and suffer trifling circumstances to give a coloring for 
good or evil to the passing hour. My dear, cross philosopher, 
hand me the toast.” 

Flora’s defence of her favorite theory was interrupted by the 
arrival of two very dear friends, who had come from a distance, 
through the storm, to bid her good-bye. 

Mr. Hawke, the elder of the twain, was an author of consider- 
able celebrity in his native country, and a most kind and excellent 
man. He brought with him his second son, a fine lad of twelve 
years of age, to a place under Lyndsay’s charge. J ames Hawke 
had taken a fancy to settle in Canada, and a friend of the family, 
who was located in the backwoods of that far region, had written 
to his father, that he would take the lad, and initiate him in the 
mysteries of the axe, if he could find a person to bring him over. 
Lyndsay had promised to do this, and the boy, who had that 
morning parted with his mother and little brothers and sisters, for 
the first time in his life, in spite of the elastic spirits of youth, 
looked sad and dejected. 

Mr. Hawke’s companion was a young Quaker, who had known 
Flora from a girl, and had always expressed the greatest interest in 
her welfare. 

Adam Mansel was a handsome, talented man, whose joyous dis- 
position and mirthful humor, could scarcely be trammelled down by 
the severe conventional rules of the Society to which he belonged. 
Adam’s exquisite taste for music, and his great admiration for 
horses and dogs, savored rather of the camp of the enemy. But his 
love for these forbidden carnalities was always kept within bounds, 
and only known to a few very particular friends. 

‘‘Friend Flora,” he said, taking her hand, and giving it a most 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


9i 


hearty and cordial slialcc “ this ie a sad day to those who )iave 
known thee long, and loved thee well ; and a foul day for the com 
mencement of such an important journey. Bad beginnings, tliey 
say, make bright endings ; so there is hope for thee yet in the 
stormy cloud.” 

Flora, where are your omens now ?” said Lyndsay, triumph- 
antly. “ Either you or friend Adam must be wrong.” 

“ Or the proverb I quoted, say rather,” returned Adam. 
“ Proverbs often bear a double meaning, and can be interpreted as 
well one way as the other. The ancients were cunning fellows in 
this respect, and were determined to make themselves true prophets 
at any rate.” 

“ What a miserable day,” said the poet, turning from the win- 
dow, where he had been contemplating thoughtfully the gloomy 
aspect of things without. His eye fell sadly upon his son. “ It is 
enough to chill the heart.” 

“ When I was a boy at school,” said Adam, “ I used to think 
that God sent all the rain upon holidays, on purpose to disappoint 
us of our sport. I found that most things in life happened 
contrary to our wishes ; and I used to pray devoutly, that alii the 
Saturday’s might prove wet, firmly believing that it would be sure 
to turn out the reverse.” 

According to your theory, Mansel,” said Mr. Hawke, “ Mrs. 
Lyndsay must have prayed for a very fine day.” 

“ Dost thee call this a holiday ?” returned the Quaker, with u 
twinkle of quiet humor in his bright brown eyes. 

Mr. Hawke suppressed a sigh, and his glance again fell on his 
boy ; and, hurrying to the window, he mechanically drew his hand 
across his eyes. 

Here the old Captain came bustling in, full of importance, 
chuckling, rubbing his hands, and shaking his dripping fearnaught, 
with an air of great satisfaction. 

“ You will not be disappointed, my dear,” addressing himself to 
Mrs. Lyndsay. The wind has fallen off a bit ; and though the 
sea is too rough for the small craft. Palmer, the captain of the 
pilot-boat, has been with me ; and, foi* the consideration of two 
pounds (forty shillings) — a large sum of mcMiey, by-the-bj^e, — 1 
will try and beat him down to thirty — he says he will launch the 
great boat, and man her with twelve stout, young fellows, Avho will 
take you, bag and baggage, on board the steamer, though the gale 


92 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


weie blowing twice is stiff. You have no more tn fear in that fine 
boat, than you haV 3 sitting at your ease in that arm-chair. So 
make up your mind, my dear ; for you have no timd to lose.” 

Flora looked anxiously from her husband to her child, and then 
at the black, pouring sky, and the raging waters. 

“ There is no danger, Flora,” said Lyndsay. “ These fine boats 
can live in almost any sea. But the rain will make it very uncom- 
fortable for you and the child.” 

“ The discomfort will only last a few minutes, Mrs. Lyndsay,” 
said old Kitson. “ Those chaps will put you on board before you 
can say Jack Robinson.” 

“It is better to bear a ducking than lose our passage in the 
Chief said Flora. “ There cannot be much to apprehend 
from the violence of the storm, or twelve men would never risk 
their lives for the value of forty shillings. Our trunks are all in 
the boat-house, our servants discharged, and our friends gone ; we 
have no longer a home, and I am impatient to commence our 
voyage.” 

“You are right, Flora. Dress yourself and the child, and I will 
engage the boat immediately.” And away bounded Lyndsay to 
make their final arrangements, and see the luggage safely stowed 
away in the pilot-boat. 

Captain Kitson seated himself at the table, and began discussing 
a beefsteak with all the earnestness of a hungry man. From time 
to time, as his appetite began to slacken, he addressed a word of 
comfort or encouragement to Mrs. Lyndsay, who was busy wra}> 
ping up the baby for her perilous voyage. 

“ That’s right, my dear. Take care of the young one ; ’tis the 
most troublesome piece of lumber you have with you. A child 
and a cat are two things which never ought to come on board a 
ship. But take courage, my dear. Be like our brave Nelson; 
never look behind you after entering upon difficulties ; it only 
makes bad worse, and does no manner of good. You will encoun- 
ter rougher gales than tliis before you have crossed the Atlantic.” 

“ I hope that we shall not have to wait long for the steamer,” 
said Flora. “ I dread this drenching rain for the poor baby, far 
more than the stormy sea.” 

“ Wait,” responded the old man, “ the steamer will be rattling 
down in no time ; it is within an hour of her usual time. But 
Mrs. Lyndsay, my dear,” — hastily pushing from him his empty 


flora LfNLSAY. 


93 


plate, and speaking with his mouth full — “ I have one word to say 
to you in private, before you go.” 

Flora followed the gallant captain into the kitchen, marvelling 
in her own mind what this private communication could be. The 
old man shut the door carefully behind him ; then said, in a myste- 
rious whisper — “ The old clothes ; do you remember what I said 
to you last night ?” 

Taken by surprise, Flora looked down, colored, and hesitated ; 
she was afraid of wounding his feelings. Simple woman ! the man 
was without delicacy, and had no feelings to wound. 

There is a bundle of things. Captain Kitson,” she faltered out 
at last, ‘‘in the press in my bed-room, for Mr. Charles — coats, 
trowsers, and other things. '' I was ashamed to mention to you such 
trifles.” 

“ Never mind — never mind, my dear ; I am past blushing at my 
time of life ; and reelly — (he always called it reelly) — I am much 
obliged to you.” 

After a pause, in which both looked supremely foolish, the old 
man continued — “ There was a china-cup and two plates— pity to 
spoil the set — that your careless maid broke the other day in the 
wash-house. Did Mrs. K. mention them to you, ray dear ?” 

“ Yes, sir, and they are paid for,” said Flora, turning with dis- 
gust from the sordid old man. “ Have you anything else to 
communicate ?” 

“All right,” said the Captain. “ Here is your husband look- 
ing for you. The boat is ready.” 

“ Flora, we only wait for you,” said Lyndsay. Flora placed 
the precious babe in her father’s arms, and they descended the steep 
flight of steps that led from the cliff to the beach. 

In spite of the inclemency of the weather, a crowd of old and 
young had assembled on the beach to witness their embarkation, 
fend bid them farewell. 

The hearty “ God bless you ! God grant you a prosperous 
voyage, and a better home than the one you leave, on the other 
side of the Atlantic !” burst from the lips of many an honest tar ; 
and brought the tears into Flora’s eyes, as the sailors crowded 
round the emigrants, to shake hands with them before they stepped 
into the noble boat that lay rocking in the surf. 

Precious to Flora and Lyndsay were the pressure of those hard 
rough hands. They expressed the honest sympathy fclt, by a true- 


94 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


hearted set of poor men, in their present situation and future wel- 
fare. 

“ You are not ^oing without one parting word with me I” cried 
Mary Parnell, springing down the steep bank of stones, against 
which thundered the tremenduous surf. The wind had blown her 
straw bonnet back upon her shoulders, and scattered her fair hair 
in beautiful confusion round her lovely face. 

The weeping, agitated girl was alternately clasped in the arms 
of Lyndsay and his wife. 

“ Why did you expose yourself, dear Mary, to weather like 
this?” 

Don’t talk of weather,” sobbed Mary ; “ I only know that we 
must part. Do you begrudge me the last look ? Good-bye J 
God bless you both !” 

Before Flora could speak another word, she was caught up in 
the arms of a stout seaman, who safely deposited both the mother 
and her child in the boat. Lyndsay, Mr. Hawke, his son, Adam 
Mansel, and lastly Hannah, followed. Three cheers arose from the 
sailors on the beach. Tire gallant boat dashed through the surf, 
and was soon bounding over the giant billows. 

Mr. Hawke and friend Adam had never been on the sea before, 
but they determined not to bid adieu to the emigrants until they 
saw them safe on board the steamer. 

“ 1 will never take a last look of the dear home in which I have 
passed so many happy hours,” said Flora, resolutely turning her 
back to the shore. I cannot yet realize the thought that 1 am 
never to see it again.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AN OPEN BOAT AT SEA. 

Flora’s spirits rose in proportion to the novelty and danger of 
her situation. All useless regrets and repinings were banished 
from her breast the moment she embarked upon that stormy ocean. 
The parting, which, when far off, had weighed so heavily on her 
heart, was over ; the present was full of excitement and interest ; 
the time for action had arrived ; and the consciousness that they 
were actually on their way to a distant clime, braced her mind to 
bcai' with becoming fortitude this great epoch of her life. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


95 


The gale lulled for a few minutes, and Flora looked up to the 
leaden sky, in the hope of catching one bright gleam from the sun. 
He seemed to have abdicated his throne that day, and refused to 
oast even a glimpse upon the dark, storm-tossed waters, or cheer 
with his presence the departure of the emigrants. 

The gentlemen made an effort to be lively. The conversation 
turned on the conduct of women under trying circumstances — the 
courage and constancy they had shown in situations of great peril 
— animating the men to fresh exertions by their patient endurance 
of suffering and privation. Mr. Hawke said, “ that all travellers 
had agreed in their observations upon the conduct of females to 
strangers ; and that, when travelling, they had never had occasion 
to complain of the women.” 

At this speech, Lyndsay, who began to feel all the horrible nau- 
sea of sea-sickness, raised his head from between his hands, and 
replied, with a smile, that it was the very reverse with women, 
for, when they travailed, they had most reason to complain of the 
men.” 

The effects of the stormy weather soon became very apparent 
among the passengers in the pilot-boat — sickness laid its leaden 
grasp upon all the fresh-water sailors. Even Lyndsay, a hardy 
Islander, and used to boats and boating all his life, yielded pas- 
sively to the attacks of the relentless fiend of the salt waters, with 
rigid features, and a face pale as the faces of the dead. He sat 
with his head bowed between his hands, as motionless as if he had 
suddenly been frozen into stone. Flora often lifted the cape of the 
cloak which partially concealed his face, to ascertain that he was 
still alive. 

The anxiety she felt in endeavoring to protect her infant from 
the pouring rain, perhaps acted as an antidote to this distressing 
malady, for, though only just out of a sick bed, she did not feel the 
least qualmish. 

Hannah, the servant, lay stretched at the bottom of the boat, her 
head supported by the ballast-bags, in a state too miserable to 
describe ; while James Hawke, the lad who was to accompany them 
in their long voyage, had sunk into a state of happy unconscious- 
ness, after having vainly wished, for the hundredth time that he 
was safe on shore, scampering over the village green with his 
twelve brothers and sisters, and not tempting the angry main in an 
open boat, with the windows of heaven discharging waters enough 


96 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


upon his defenceless head to drown him — without speaki ol th« 
big waves that every moment burst into the boat, giving him a salt 
bath upon a gigantic scale. 

After an hour’s hard rowing, the King William (for so their boat 
was called) cast anchor in the roadstead, distant about eight miles 
from the town, and lay to, waiting for the coming-up of the 
fiteamer. 

Hours passed away — the day wore slowly onward — but still the 
vessel they expected did not appear. The storm, which had lulled 
till noon, increased in violence, until it blew “ great guns,” to use 
the sailors’ nautical phraseology ; and signs of uneasiness began to 
be manifested by the hardy crew of the pilot-boat. 

“ Some accident must have befallen the steamer,” said Palmer, 
the captain of the boat, to Craigie, a fine, handsome young seaman, 
as he handed him the bucket to bail the water from their vessel. 

I don’t like this ; I’Jl be d d if I do ! If the wind increases, 

and remains in the present quarter, a pretty kettle of fish it will 
make of us. We may be thankful if we escape with our lives.” 

“ Is there any danger?” demanded Flora, eagerly, as she clasped 
her wet, cold baby closer to her breast. The child had been cry- 
ing piteously for the last hour. 

“ Yes, Madam,” he replied, respectfully ; “ we have been in con- 
siderable danger all day. The wind is increasing with the coming 
in of the tide ; and I see no prospect of its clearing up. As the 
night comes on, do ye see, and if we do not fall in with the Soho, 
we shall have to haul up the anchor, and run before the gale ; and, 
with all my knowledge of the coast, we may be driven ashore, and 
the boat swamped in the surf.” 

Flora sighed, and wished herself safe at home, in her dear, snug, 
little parlor ; the baby asleep in the cradle, and Lyndsay reading 
aloud to her as she worked, or playing on his flute. 

The rain again burst down in torrents, the thunder roared over 
their heads, and the black, lurid sky, looked as if it contained a 
second deluge. Flora shivered with cold and exhaustion, and bent 
more closely over the child, to protect her as much as possible, by 
the exposure of her own person, from the drenching rain and spray. 

“ Ah ! this is sad work for women and children !” said the 
honest tar, drawing a large tarpaulin over the mother and child. 
Blinded and drenched by the pelting of the pitiless shower. Flora 
crouclicd down in the bottom of the boat, in patient endurance of 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


9V 

what miglit befal. Tlie uond blew piercingly cold ; and the spray 
of the huge billows which burst continually over them, enveloped 
the small craft in a feathery cloud, effectually concealing from her 
weary passengers the black waste of raging waters, which roared 
around and beneath them. 

The poor infant was starving with hunger, and all Flora’s efforts 
to keep it quiet proved unavailing. The gentlemen were as sick 
and helpless as the baby, and nothing could well increase their 
wretchedness. They had now been ten hours at sea, and, not 
expecting the least detention from the non-arrival of the steamer, 
nothing in the way of refreshment had formed any part of their 
luggage. Those who had escaped the horrors of sea-sickness, of 
which Flora was one, were suffering from thirst, while the keen 
air had sharpened their appetites to a ravenous degree. 

In spite of their forlorn situation. Flora could not help being 
amused by the gay, carelevSS manner, in which the crew pf the boat 
contended with these difficulties. 

“ Well, I’ll be blowed, if I arn’t hungry !” cried Craigie, as he 
stood up in the ^oat, with his arms folded, and his nor’wester 
pulled over his eyes, to ward off the drenching rain. “ Nothin’ 
would come amiss to me now, in the way of prog. I could digest 
a bit of the shark thait swallowed Jonah, or pick a rib of the old 
prophet himself, without making a wry face.” 

“ I wonder which would prove the tougher morsel of the two,” 
said Mr. Hawke, raising his languid head from the bench before 
him, and whose love of fun overcame the deadly pangs of sea-sick- 
ness. 

“ A dish of good beefsteaks from the Crown Inn would be worth 
them both, friend,” said Adam Mansel, who, getting better of the 
sea-sickness, like Craigie, began to feel the pangs of hunger. 

“You may keep the dish, mister,” returned Craigie, laughing ; 
“ give me the grub.” 

“Ah, how bitter!” groaned James Hawke, raising himself up 
from the furled sail which had formed his bed, and yielding to the 
terrible nausea that oppressed him. 

“ Ay, ay, my lad,” said an ancient mariner, on whose tanned face 
time and exposure to sun and storm, had traced a thousanc] 
hieroglyphics; “nothing’s sweet that’s so contrary to natur’. 
Ann)ng the bitter things of life, there’s scarcely a worse than 

5 


98 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


the one that now troubles you. Sick at sea— well on shore; 9t 
there’s comfort for you!” 

“ Cold comfort,” sighed the boy, as he again fel . prostrate on the 
wet sail. A huge billow broke over the side of the boat, and 
deluged him with brine. He did not heed it, having again relapsed 
into his former insensible state. 

The bucket aft,” shouted Palmer ; “ it’s wanted to bail the 
boat.” 

“The bucket’s engaged,” said Craigie, bowing with ludicrous 
politeness, to poor Hannah, whose head he was supporting. “ I 
must first attend to the lady.” 

The patience of the handsome young Quaker, under existing dif- 
ficulties, was highly amusing. He bore the infliction of the pre- 
vailing malady with such a benign air of resignation, that it waa 
quite edifying. Wiping the saltwater from his face with a pocket- 
handkerchief of snowy whiteness, he exclaimed, turning to Flora, 
who was sitting at his teet with Josey in her arms, “ Friend Flora, 
this sea-sickness is an evil emetic. It tries a man’s temper, and 
makes him guilty of the crime of wishing himself at the bottom of 
the sea.” 

“ If you could rap out a good round oath or two. Mister 
Quaker, without choking yourself, it woul9 do you a power of 
good,” said Craigie. “ What’s the use of a big man putting up 
with the like o’ that, like a weak gall — women were made to bear 
— ^man to resist ” 

“ The Devil, and he will flee from them,” said Adam. 

“ You smooth-faced, unshaved fellows, have him always at. your 
elbow,” said Craigie. “ He teaches you long prayers — us big 
oaths. I wonder which cargo is the best to take to heaven.” 

“ Two blacks don’t make a white, friend,” said Adam, good- 
naturedly. “ Blasphemy, or hypocrisy either, is sufficient to sink 
the ship.” 

Night was fast closing over the storm-tossed voyagers. The 
boat was half full of water, which flowed over Flora’s lap, and she 
began to feel very apprehensive for the safety of her child. At 
this moment, a large retriever dog which belonged to the captain 
of the boat, crept into her lap ; and she joyfully placed the baby 
upon his shaggy back, and the warmth of the animal seemed 
greatly to revive the poor shivering J osey. 

It was nearly dark when Palmer roused Lyndsay from his stupor, 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


99 


and suggested the propriety of their return to . “ You see, 

sir,” he said, “ I am quite willing to wait for the arrival of the 
Sofio, but something must have gone wrong with her, or she would 
liave been down before this. The crew of the boat have been now 
ten hours exposed to the storm, without a morsel of food, and if 
the wind should change, we should have to run in for the Port of 
y , twenty miles distant from this. Under existing circum- 

stances, I think it advisable to return.” 

“ By all means,” said Lyndsay. “ This might have been done 
three hours ago ;” and the next minute, to Flora’s inexpressible 
joy, the anchor was hoisted, and the gallant boat once more career- 
ing over the mighty billows. 

Her face was once more turned towards that dear home, to which 
she had bidden adieu in the morning ; as she then imagined forever — 
** England !” she cried, stretching her arms towards the dusky 
shore. “ Dear England I The winds and waves forbid our leaving 
you. Welcome — oh, welcome, once more !” 

As they neared the beach, the stormy clouds parted in rifted 
masses ; and the deep-blue heavens, studded here and there with a 
pale star, gleamed lovingly down upon them ; the rain ceased its 
pitiless pelting, the very elements seemed to smile upon their 
return. 

The pilot-boat had been reported during the day as lost, and the 
beach was crowded with anxious men and women to hail its return. 
The wives and children of her crew pressed forward to meet tliem 
with joyful acclamations ; and Flora’s depressed spirits rose with 
the excitement of the scene. 

“ Hold fast your baby, Mrs. Lyndsay, while the boat clears the 
surf,” cried Palmer. “ I’ll warrant that you both get a fresh duck- 
ing.” 

As he spoke, the noble boat cut like an arrow through the line 
of formidable breakers' which thundered on the beach ; the foam 
flew in feathery volumes high above their heads, drenching them 
with a misty shower ; the keel grated upon tiie shingles, and a 
strong arm lifted Flora once more upon her native shore. 

Benumbed and cramped with their long immersion in salt water, 
her limbs had lost the power of motion, and Lyndsay and old Kit- 
son carried her between them up the steps which led from the beach 
to the top of the cliffs, and deposited her safely on the sofa in the 
little parlor of her deserted home. 


ICO 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


CHAPTER XY. 

OLCE MORE AT HOME 

A CHEERFUL fire was blazing in the grate ; the fragrant tea was 
smoking on the well-covered table, and dear and familiar voices 
rang in her ears, as sisters and friends crowded about Flora to offer 
their services, and congratulate her on her safe return. 

“Ah, does not this repay us for all our past sufferings?” cried 
Flora, after the first hearty salutations of her friends were over. 
“ And the baby ! where is the baby ?” 

Josey was laughing and crowing in the arms of her old nurse, 
looking as fresh and as rosy as if nothing had happened to disturb 
her repose. 

Welcome once more to old England ! dear Flora,” said Mary 
Parnell, kissing the cold, wet cheek of her friend. “ When I said 
that we should meet again, I did not think it would be so soon. 
Thank God, you are all safe I For many hours it was believed that 
the boat had been swamped in the gale, and that you were all lost. 
You may imagine the distress of your mother and sisters, and the 
anguish the report occasioned us all, and how we rejoiced when 
Waters ran up with the blessed news that the boat was returning, 
and that her crew was safe. But come up stairs, my Flora, and 
change these dripping clothes. There is a nice fire in your bed-room, 
and I have provided everything necessary for your comfort.” 

“ Don’t talk of changing her clothes. Miss Parnell,” said the old 
Captain, bustling in. “ Undress and put her to bed immediately, 
between hot blankets, and I will make her a good stiff* glass of 
brandy-and-water, to drive the cold out of her, or she may fall into 
a sickness which no doctor can cure. Cut your yarn short, I say, 
or I shall have to take charge of her myself.” 

“ Captain Kitson is right, Mary,” said Lyndsay, who just then 
entered from superintending the removal of his luggage from the 
boat, accompanied by a group of friends, all anxious to congratu- 
late Mrs. Lyndsay on her providential escape. “ My dear Flora, 
you must be a good girl, and go instantly to bed,” 

“ It will be so dull !” and Flora glanced at the group of friendly 
faces, beaming with affection and kindness , “ I should enjoy myself 
here so much. Now, John, do not send me away to bed, and keep 


FLORA LYI'IDSAY; 


1 01 

9.11 tnc fun to yourself — the bright, cheery fire and all the good 
things.’ 

Lyndsay looked grave, and whispered something in her ear about 
the baby and the madness of risking a bad cold. Whatever was 
the exact import of his communication, it had the effect of producing 
immediate obedience to his wishes, and Flora reluctantly quitted 
the social group, and retired to her own chamber.” 

“ Ah, Mary,” she said, as Miss Parnell safely deposited her and 
the precious baby between the hot blankets, “ it was worth braving 
a thousand storms to receive such a welcome back. I never knew 
how much our dear, kind, friends loved us before.” 

‘‘ And now we have’ got you safe back. Flora, who knows what 
may happen to prevent your leaving us again ; Lyndsay may change 
his mind, and prefer being happy on a small income at home to 
seeking his fortune in a strange land.” 

Flora shook her head. 

“ I know him better than you do, Mary. When once he has 
made up his mind to any step which he considers necessary, a 
little difficulty and danger will only stimulate him to exertion, and 
make him more eager to prosecute his voyage,” 

Whilst sipping the potion prescribed by old Kitson, and giving 
Mary an account of all the perils they had encountered during the 
day. Nurse came running up-stairs to say that Captain Kitson 
thought that the Soho was just rounding the point off the cliff, and 
he wanted to know, if it really proved to be her, whether Mrs. 
Lyndsay would get up and once more trust herself upon the waves ? 

“ Not to-night Nurse, if a fortune depended upon it,” said Flora, 
laughing. “ Tell the Captain that I have spent the day in a salt 
bath, and mean to pass the night in my bed.” 

Fortunately, Mrs. Lyndsay was not put to this fresh trial. The 
Captain had mistaken the craft, and she was permitted to enjoy the 
warmth and comfort of a sound sleep, unbroken by the peals of 
laughter, that from time to time, ascended from the room beneath ; 
where the gentlemen seemed determined to make the night recom- 
pense them for the dangers and privations of the day. 

The morning brought its own train of troubles — and when do 
they ever come singly ? Upon examination, Lyndsay found that 
the salt-water had penetrated into all their trunks and cases, and 
that everything would have to be unpacked and hung out to dry. 


102 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Tins was indeed dull work, the disappointment and loss attending 
upon it rendering it doubly irksome. 

While Flora and her friend Mary superintended this troublesome 
affair, Lyndsay lost no time in writing to the steamboat company 
informing them of his diastrous attempt to meet the Soho, and the 
loss he had incurred by missing the vessel. They stated, in reply, 
that the boat had been wrecked at the mouth of the Thames, in the 
gale ; and that another boat would supply her place on the Sunday 
following ; that she would pass the town at noon, and hoist a red 
flag at her stern, as a signal for them to get on board. 

This was Thursday, and the intervening days passed heavily 
along. A restless fever of expectation prayed upon Flora. She 
could settle to no regular occupation ; she knew that the delay 
only involved a fresh and heavy expense, that they must ultimately 
go, and she longed to be off. The efforts made by her friends to 
amuse and divert her, only increased her impatience. But time, 
however slowly it passes to the anxious expectant, swiftly and 
surely ushers in the appointed day. 

Sunday came at last, and proved one of the loveliest mornings 
of that delightful season of spring and sunshine. The lark carolled 
high in air, the swallows darted on light wings to and fro ; and the 
sea, vast and beautiful, gently heaved and undulated against the 
shore, with scarcely a ripple to break the long line of golden light, 
which danced and sparkled on its breast. The church bells were 
chiming for morning prayer; and the cliffs were covered with 
happy groups in tlieir holiday attire. Flora, surrounded by friends 
and relatives, strove to be cheerful ; and the day was so promising, 
that it infused new life and spirit into her breast. All eyes were 
turned to that part, of the horizon on which the long, black, trailing 
smoke of the steamer was first expected to appear. A small boat, 
which had been engaged to put them and their luggage on board, 
and which contained all their worldly chattels, lay rocking in the 
surf, and all was ready for a start. 

In the midst of an animated discussion on their future prospects, 
the signal was given that the steamer was in sight, and had already 
rounded tlie point. How audibly to herself did Flora’s heart beat, 
as a small, black speck in the distance gradually increased to a 
black cloud, which was doubtless the expected vessel ! 

Then came the blinding tears, the re-enactment of the last pas- 
sionate adieus, and they were once more afloat upon the water. 


FLOKA LYNDSAY. 


103 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE FOG. 

The human heart is made of elastic stuff, and can scarcely expe- 
rience on the same subject an equal intensity of grief. Repetition 
had softened the anguish of this second parting ; the bitterness of 
grief was already past; and the sun of hope was calmly rising 
above the clouds of sorrow, whidi had hung for the last weary 
days so loweringly above our emigrants. Mr. Hawke and his son 
alone accompanied them on this second expedition. Adam Mansel 
had had enough of the sea during their late adventure, and thought 
it most prudent to make his adieus on shore. 

James Hawke was in high spirits; anticipating, with boyish 
enthusiasm, tfie adventures which might fall to his share during a 
long voyage, and his sojourn in that distant land, which was to 
prove to him a very land of Goshen. Many gay hopes smiled 
upon him, which, like that bright sunny day, were doomed to have 
a gloomy ending, although at the beginning it promised so fair. 

The owner of the boat, a morose old seaman, grumbled out his 
commands to the two sailors who managed the craft, in such a 
dogged, sulky tone, that it attracted the attention of the elder 
Hawkes, and being naturally fond of fun, he endeavored to draw 
him out. An abrupt monosyllable was the sole reply he could 
obtain to any one of his many questions. 

Lyndsay was highly amused by his surly humor, and flattered 
himself that he might prove more successful than his friend, by 
startling the sea-bear into a more lengthy growl. 

“ Friend,” said he, carelessly, “ I have forgotten your name.” 

“ Sam Rogers,” was the brief reply, uttered in a short grunt. 

“ Does the boat belong to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“ She looks as if she had seen hard service.” 

“ Yes ; both of us are the worse for wear.” 

The ice once broken, Mr. Hawke chimed in — “ Have you a wife, 
Captain Rogers ?” 

“ She’s in the churchyard,” with a decided growl. 

“ So much the better for Mrs. Rogers,” whispered Lyndsay to 
Flora. 


104 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


You had better let the animal alone,” said Flora, in the same 
tone : “ ’Tis sworn to silence.” 

“Have you any family, Captain Rogers?” re-commeneed the 
incorrigible Hawke. 

“ Ay ; more than’s good.’^ 

“ Girls, or boys?” 

“What's that to you? Too many of both. Why do you call 
me Captain? You knows well enough that I’m not a captain ; 
never was a captain, and never wants to be.” 

After this rebuff, the surly Rogers was left to smoke his short, 
black pipe in peace, and in a few minutes the little boat came 
alongside the huge leviathan of the deep. A rope was thrown 
from her deck, which having been secured, the following brief dia- 
logue ensued : 

“ The City of Edinburgh, for Edinburgh ?” 

“ The Queen of Scotland, for Aberdeen, Captain "Fraser.” 

This announcement was followed by a look of blank astonish- 
ment and disappointment from the party in the boat. 

“ Where is the City of Edinburgh ?” 

“We left her in the river. You had better take a passage with 
us to Aberdeen,” said Captain Fraser, advancing to the side of his 
vessel. 

“ Two hundred miles out of my way,” said Lyndsay. “ Fall off.” 
The tow rope was cast loose, and the floating castle resumed her 
thundering course, leaving the party in the boat greatly discon- 
certed by the misadventure. 

“ The City of Edinburgh must soon be here ?” said Lyndsay, 
addressing himself once more to Sam Rogers. That sociable indi- 
vidual continued smoking his short pipe, without deigning to notice 
the speaker. “ Had we not better lay-to, and wait for her coming 
up ?” 

“ No ; we should be run down by her. Do you see yon ?” point- 
ing with his pipe to a grey cloud that was rolling over the surface 
of the sea towards them ; “ that’s the sea-roke — in three minutes 
— in less than three minutes, you will not be able to discern ob- 
jects three yards beyond your nose.” 

“ Pleasant news,” said Mr. Hawke, with rather a dolorous sigh. 

“ This may turn out as bad as our last scrape. Lyndsay, you 
are an unlucky fellow. If you go on as you have begun, it will be 
gome mouths before you reach Canada.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


105 


In loss time than tho old man had prognosticated, the dense ibg 
had rapidly spread itself over the water, blotting the sun from tho 
heavens, and enfolding every object in its chilly embrace. The 
shores faded from their view, the very ocean on which they floated 
was heard, but no longer seen. Nature seemed to have lost her 
identity, covered with that white sheet, which enveloped her like a 
shroud. Flora strove in vain to pierce tire thick misty curtain by 
which they were surrounded. Her whole world was now conflned 
to the little boat and the persons it contained : the rest of creation 
had become a blank. The fog wetted like rain, and was more 
penetrating, and the constant efforts she made to see through it, 
made her eyes and head ache, and cast a damp upon her spirits 
which almost amounted to despondency. 

“ What is to be done?” asked Lyndsay, who shared the same feel- 
ings in common with his wife. 

“ Nothing, that I know of,” responded Sam Rogers, “ but to 
return.” 

As he spoke, a dark shadow loomed through the fog, which 
proved to be a small trading vessel, bound from London to Yar- 
mouth. The sailors hailed her, and with some difficulty ran the 
boat alongside. 

“ Have you passed the City of Edinburgh V 

“We spake her in the river. She ran foul of the Courier 
steamer, and unshipped her rudder. She put back for repairs, and 
won’t be down till to-morrow morning.” 

“ The devil !” muttered Sam Rogers. 

“ Agreeable tidings for us,” sighed Flora. “ This is worse than 
the storm ; it is so uiiexpected. I should be quite disheartened, did 
I not believe that Providence directed these untoward events.” 

“ I am inclined to be of your opinion. Flora,” said Lyndsay, “ in 
spite of my disbelief in signs and omens. There is something 
beyond mere accident in this second disappointment.” 

“ Is it not a solemn warning to us, not to leave England?” said 
Flora. 

“ I was certain that would be your interpretation of the matter,” 
returned her husband ; “ but having put my hand to the plough. 
Flora, I will not turn back.” 

The sailors now took to their oars, the dead calm precluding the 
use of the sail, and began to steer their course homewards. The 
fog was so dense and bewildering that they made little way, and 

5 * 


106 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


the long day was spent in wandering to and fro without being able 
to asc<3rtain where they were. 

Hark !” cried one of the men, laying his ear to the side of the 
boat, “ I hear the flippers of the steamer.” 

“ It is the roar of the accursed Barnet,^' cried the other. “ 1 
know its voice of old, having twice been wrecked upon the reef— 
we must change our course ; we are on a wrong tack altogether.” 

It was near midnight before a breeze sprang up and dispelled the 
ominous fog. The moon showed her wan face through the driving 
Bcud, the sail was at last hoisted, and cold and hungry, and sick at 
heart, our voyagers once more returned to their old port. 

This time, however, the beach was silent and deserted. No 
friendly voice welcomed them back. Old Kitson looked cross at 
being roused out of his bed at one o’clock in the morning, to admit 
them into the house, muttering as he did so, something about 
“ unlucky folks, and the deal of trouble they gave ; that they had 
better give up going to Canada altogether, and hire their old 
lodgings again ; that it was no joke having his rest broken at his 
time of life ; that he could not aflbrd to keep open house at all 
hours, for people who were in no ways related to him.” 

With such consoling expressions of sympathy in their forlorn con- 
dition, did the hard, worldly old man proceed to unlock the door 
of their former domicile ; but food, lights, and firing, he would not 
produce, until Lyndsay had promised ample remuneration for the 
same. 

Exhausted in mind and body — for she had not broken her fast 
since eight o’clock that morning — Flora for a long time refused to 
partake of a cup of tea her loving partner had made with his own 
hands for her especial benefit ; and her tears continued to fall invoh 
nntarily over the sleeping babe which lay upon her lap. 

Mr. Hawke saw that her nerves were completely unstrung by 
fatigue, and ran across the green, and called up Flora’s nurse to take 
charge of the infant. 

Mrs. Clarke, kind creature that she was, instantly hurried to the 
house to do what she could for the mother and child. Little Joscy 
was soon well warmed and fed, and Flora smiled through her tears 
when her husband made his appearance. 

“ Come, Flora,” he cried, you are ill for the want of food — I 
am going to make some sandwiches for you, and you must be a good 
girl and eat them, or I will never cater for you again.” 


FLORxV LYNDSxiY. 


107 


Mr. Hawke exerted all his powers of drollery to enliven the mis- 
cellaneous meal, and Flora soon retired to rest, fully determined to 
bear the crosses of life with more fortitude for the future. 

The sun was not above the horizon, when she was roused, how- 
ever, from a deep sleep, by the stentorian voice of Old Kitson who, 
anxious to get rid of his troublesome visitors, cried out, with great 
glee — “ Hallo ! I say — here is the right steamer at last. Better 
late than never. The red flag is hoisted at her stern ; and she is 
standing right in for the bay. Quick ! Quick ! Leaftenant Lyiid- 
say ! or you’ll be too late.’’ 

With all possible despatch Flora dressed herself, though baffled 
by anxiety from exerting unusual celerity. The business of the 
toilet had to be performed in such a brief space, that it was impos- 
sible to attend to it with any nicety. At last all was completed ; 
Flora hurried down to the beach with Hannah and Mrs. Clarke, 
J ames Hawke and Lyndsay having preceded them to arrange their 
passage to the steamer. 

“ Make haste, Mrs. Lyndsay,” shouted old Kitson ; “ tliese big 
dons wait for no one. I have got all your trunks stowed away into 
the boat, and the lads are waiting. If you miss your passage the 
third time, you may give it up as a bad job.” 

In a few minutes Flora was seated in the boat, uncheered by any 
parting blessing but the cold farewell and for ever, of old Captain 
Kitson, who could scarcely conceal the joy be felt at their depart- 
ure. The morning was wet and misty, and altogether comfortless, 
and Flora was glad when the bustle of getting on board the steamer 
was over, and they were safe upon her deck. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

THE STEAMBOAT. 

In spite of the early hour, and the disagreeable weather, a 
number of persons, glad to escape from the close confinement of 
the cabins, were pacing the deck of the steamer. Others were 
leaning over the bulwarks, regarding the aspect of the country 
they were rapidly passing ; while some were talking in small 
groups, in a loud declamatory tone, evidently more intent on 
attracting the attention of the bystanders than of edifying their 


108 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


own immecVate listeners. Though bright eyes might look heavy, 
and fair faces languid and sleepy, vanity was wide awake and never 
more active, than in the midst of a crowd, where all are strangers 
to each otlier. It affords such a glorious opportunity for display 
for pretenders to rank and importance to show off their affected airs 
of wealth and consequence ; and the world can lay bare its rotten 
heart, without much fear of detection, or dread of unpleasant 
results. 

Flora sat down upon a bench beside her husband, and her 
eye ranged from group to group of those strange faces, with a me- 
chanical, uninterested gaze. Here a pretty, insipid-looking girl 
sauntered the deck with a book in her hand, from which she never 
read ; and another, more vivacious, and equally intent on attract- 
ing her share of public notice, raved to an elderly gentleman, on 
whose arm she was leaning, of the beauty and magnificence of the 
ocean. 

The young and good-looking of either sex were flirting. The 
more wily and experienced coquetting after a graver fashion ; 
while the middle-aged were gossiping to some congenial spirit on 
the supposed merits or demerits of their neighbors. 

Not a few prostrate forms might be seen reclining upon shawls 
and cloaks, supported by pillows, whose languid, pale faces, and 
disarranged tresses, showed that the demon of the waters had been 
at work, and remorselessly had stricken them down. 

Standing near the seat, occupied by the Lyndsays, Flora ob- 
served a tall, fashionably-dressed woman, apparently about twenty- 
eight or thirty years of age. She was laughing and chatting in 
the most lively and familiar manner with a handsome, middle-aged 
man, in a military undress. The person of the lady was very 
agreeable, and though neither pretty nor elegant, was fascinating 
and attractive. 

As her male companion constantly addressed her as Mrs. Dalton, 
we will call her by her name. When Mrs. Lyndsay first took her 
seat upon the deck, Mrs. Dalton left off her conversation with 

Major F , and regarded the new arrival with a long, cool, 

deliberate stare, which would have won a smile from Flora, had it 
not been evidently meant to insult and annoy ; for, turning to the 
Major, with a glance of peculiar meaning, accompanied with the 
least possible elevation of her shoulders, she let slip the word— 
^‘Nobody/” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


109 


I iim sure that he is a gentloman, and, if I mistake not. an 
ofticer, and a fine, intelligent-looking man,” remarked her compan- 
ion, in an aside ; “ and I like the appearance of his wife.” 

‘‘ My dear Sir, I tell you that she is nobody. Look at that 
merino gown ; what lady would venture on board these fine 
vessels, where they meet with so many fashionable people, in such 
a dress?” 

“ A very suitable dress, I should say, for a sea-voyage.” 

‘‘Pshaw!” muttered Mrs. Dalton, “have done with j^our pru- 
dent Scotch sense of propriety. Who minds spoiling a good dress 
or two, when their standing in society is risked by appearing 
shabby ? I tell you, Major, that she is nobody.” 

“ Had you not told me that you had passed the greater part of 
your life, Mrs. Dalton, in a British Colony, I could have sworn 
to the fact, from your last speech,” said her companion : “ you 
all think so much of dress, that with you it is really the coat which 
makes the man, and, I suppose, the gown which makes the lady. 
However, you shall have it your own way. You know how easy 
It is for you to bring me over to your opinion.” 

“ Do you think that a pretty woman?” said Flora, directing her 
husband's eyes towards the lady in question. 

“ Rather,” he replied, coldly, “ but very worldly and sophisti- 
cated.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so,” said Flora, like a true woman : 
“ that is precisely the opinion I have formed of her. Is that officer 
her husband?” 

“ I should rather think not. Husbands and wives seldom try to 
attract public attention to themselves, as that man and woman are 
doing. I have no doubt they are strangers who never met before.” 

“ Impossible I” 

“ Nothing more probable ; people who meet on short journeys 
and voyages like this, often throw aside the restraints imposed by 
society, and act and talk in a manner which would be severely cen- 
sured in circles where they are known. Were you never favored 
oy the autobiography of a fellow-traveller in a stage-coach ?” 

“ Yes, often, and thought it very odd *hat any one should reveal 
BO much of their private history to a stranger.” 

“ It is a common occurrence, originating in the vanity of persons 
wno love to make themed ve.s and their affairs the subject of conver- 


110 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


sation ; and if they can but obtain listeners, never stop to question 
who or what they are.” 

“ Ah, I remember getting into a sad scrape,” said Flora, “ while 

travelling from S to London in a stage-coach. It was one 

of those uncomfortable things which one hates to think of for the 
rest of a life, and yet so ridiculous that one feels more inclined to 
laugh over it than to cry, though I believe (for I was but a girl at 
the time) I did both. 

^‘My fellow-passengers were three gentlemen, one to whom I 
was well known, the others perfect strangers. One of the latter, a 
very well-dressed but rather foppish, conceited young man, talked 
much upon literary matters, and from his conversation gave you to 
understand that he was on the most intimate terms with all the 
celebrated authors of the day. After giving us a very frank, and 
by no means just critique upon the works of Scott and Byron, 
whom he familiarly called, ‘ my friend, Sir Walter,’ ‘ my companion, 
Ijord Byron,’ he suddenly turned to me, and asked me ‘ if I ever 

read the S Chronicle ?’ It being one of the county papers, 

I told him that I saw it every week. 

“ * If that be the case,’ said he, ‘ will you tell me what you think 
of the Rev. Mr. B.’s poems, which have from time to time appeared 
in its columns ?’ 

“ This reverend gentleman was a iian with a very heavy purse, 
and a very empty head, whose contributions to the country papers 
were never read but to be laughed at, and not having the slightest 
personal knowledge of the author, I answered innocently enough, 

‘ Oh, he’s a stupid, conceited fellow. It is a pity he has not some 
friend to tell him what a fool he makes of himself, whenever he 
appears in print. His poetry is such dull trash, that I am certain 
he must pay the editor of the paper for allowing him to put it in.’ 

“ Mr. 0. was stuffing his handkerchief into his mouth, to avoid 
laughing out ; while the poor gentleman (for it was the author 
himself) drew back with a face alternately red and pale, with sup- 
pressed indignation. His feelings must have been dreadful, for, 
during the rest of his journey, he sat and regarded me with an air 
of such offended dignity, that I am certain I must have appeared 
to him like some wicked ogress, who was ready to devour, at one 
mouthful, him and his literary fame. He never opened his mouth 
to speak to any of us after I had made this unfortunate blunder, 
and I sat upon thorns, until a handsome plain carriage drove up 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Ill 


to tbi coach about a mi .8 from T., and relieved us of his com- 
pany. 

“ Tliis circumstance made me feel so uncomfortable, that I never 
ventured upon giving an opinion of the works of any living author 
to a stranger, without having a previous knowledge of the person 
of the writer.” 

“ He deserved what he got, for his egregious vanity,” said Lynd- 
say. “ For my part, I do not pity him at all ; and it afforded 
you a good lesson of prudence for the future.” 

At this moment a young negro lad, fantastically dressed, and evi- 
dently very much in love with himself, strutted past. As he swag- 
gered along the deck, rolling his jet-black eyes from side to side, 
and showing his white teeth to the spectators, an indolent-looking 
young man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, called languidly after 
him — 

“ Hollo, Blacky ! What color’s the Devil ?” 

White,” responded the imp of darkness, “and sports red whis- 
kers like you !” 

Every one laughed ; the dandy shrunk back, utterly confounded ; 
while the Negro snapped his fingers, and crowed with delight. 

“ Hector, go down into the ladies’ cabin, and wait there until 1 
call for you,” cried Mrs. Dalton, in an angry voice ; “ I did not 
bring you here to insult gentlemen.” 

“ De Buckra affront me first !” returned the sable page, as he 
sullenly withdrew. 

“ That boy grows very pert,” continued his mistress, turning to 
Major F. ; “ this is the consequence of the ridiculous stir made by 
the English people against slavery. The fellow knows that he is 
free the moment that he touches the British shores ; and he thinks 
he can show his independence by disobeying my commands, and 
being insolent to his superiors. I hope he will not take it into his 
head to leave me, for he saves me all the trouble of taking care of 
the children.*^ 

The Major laughed, while Flora pitied the children, and won- 
dered how any mother could confide them to the care of such a 
nurse. 

The clouds, that had been rising for some time, gave very un 
equivocal notice of an approaching storm. The rain began tc 
fall, and the decks were quickly cleared of their motley groups. 


112 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


CHAPTER XYIIL 

A PEEP INTO THE LADIES' CABIN. 

In the ladies’ cabin, all was helplessness and confusion. The 
larger portion of the berths were already occupied by invalids in 
every stage of sea-sickness. I’he floor and sofas were strewn with 
binmets and shawls, and articles of dress were scattered about in all 
directions. Some of the ladies were stretched upon the carpet ; 
others, in a sitting posture, were supporting their aching heads 
upon their knees, and appeared perfectly indifferent to all that was 
passing around them, and only alive to their own misery : others 
there were, who, beginning to recover from the odious malady, were 
employing their returning faculties in quizzing, and making remarks 
in audible whispers, on their prostrate companions — particularly if 
their dress and manners did not exactly accord with their precon- 
ceived notions of gentility. 

The centre of such a group was a little sharp-faced, dark-eyed, 
sallow- skinned old maid of forty, whose angular figure was covered 
with ample folds of rich black silk, cut very low in the bust, and 
exposing a portion of her person, which, in all ladies of her age, is 
better hid. She was travelling companion to a large, showily- 
dressed matron of fifty, who occupied the best sofa in the cabin, 
and, although evidently convalescent, commanded the principal 
attendance of the stewardess, while she graciously received the 
gratuitous services of all who were well enough to render her their 
homage. She was evidently the great lady of the cabin ; and 
round her couch a knot of gossips had collected, when Flora, fol- 
lowed by Hannah carrying the baby, entered upon the scene. 

The character of Mrs. Dalton formed the topic of conversation. 
The little old-maid was remorselessly tearing it to tatters. “No 
woman who valued her reputation,” she said, with pious horror in 
her looks and tone, “would flirt in -the disgraceful manner that 
Mrs. Dalton was doing.” 

“ There is some excuse for her conduct,” remarked a plain but 
interesting-looking woman, not herself in the early spring of life. 
“ Mrs. Dalton is a West Indian, and has not been brought up 
with our ideas of refinement and delicacy.” 

“ I consider it no excuse !’ cried the other, vehemently, glancing 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


113 


ap, as the cabin-door opened to admit Flora and her maid, to be 
sure that the object of her animadversions was not within ear- 
shot. “ Don’t tell me. She knows, Miss Leigh, very well what 
she’s about. Is it no crime, think you, her trying to attract the 

attention of Major F ? My dear Madam,” turning to the 

.great lady, who, with her head languidly propped by her hand, 
was eagerly listening to a conversation which so nearly concerned 
her, “ I wonder you can bear so calmly her flirtations with your 
husband. If it were me, now, I should be ready to tear her eyes 
out. Do speak to the creature, and remonstrate with her on her 
scandalous conduct.” 

Ah, my dear Miss Mann, I am used to these things,” sighed 
Mrs. F. “No conduct of the Major’s can give me the least 
uneasiness now. Nor do I think that Mrs. Dalton is aware that 
she is trying to seduce the affections of a married man.” 

“ That she is though,” exclaimed Miss Mann, triumphantly. “ I 
took care to interrupt one of their lively conversations, by telling 
Major F. that his wife was ill, and wished to see him. Mrs. Dal- 
ton colored, and moved away ; but the moment my back was 
turned, she recommenced her attack. If she were a widow, one 
might make some allowance for her ; but she is a young married 
woman, with two small children. I have no doubt that she left 
her husband for no good.” 

“She was married very young, to a man more than double her 
own age,” said Miss Leigh. “ The match was made for her by 
her friends — especially by her grandmother, who now resides in 
Edinburgh, and whom I know very well — a woman of considera- 
ble property, by whom Mrs. Dalton was brought up. She was 
always a gay, flighty girl, dreadfully indulged, and used from a 
child to have her own way. I consider her lot peculiarly liard, 
in being united, when a mere girl, to a man she had scarcely seen a 
dozen times, and whom she did not love. The worst that can be 
said of her, is, that she is vain and imprudent ; but I can never 
believe that she is the bad, designing woman you would make 
her.” 

“ Her conduct is very creditable for a clergyman’s wife,” sneered 
the old maid. “ I wonder the rain don’t bring her down into the 
cabin. But the society of ladies would prove very insipid to a per- 
son of her peculiar taste. 1 should like to know what brings her 
from Jamaica?” 


ii4 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


If it will satisfy your doubts, I can inform you,” said Misa 
Leigh, with a quiet smile. “ To place her two childrea- with her 
grandmother, that they may receive an European education. She 
is a thoughtless being, but hardly deserves your severe censures.” 

The amiable manner in which this lady endeavored to defend the 
absent, without wholly excusing her levity, struck Flora very 
forcibly. Mrs. Dalton’s conduct upon deck had created in her own 
mind no very favorable opinion of her good qualities. Miss Leigh’s 
remarks tended not a little to soften her disgust and aversion 
towards that individual, whose attack upon her she felt was as ill- 
natured, as it was unjust. She was now inclined to let them pass 
for what they were worth, and to dismiss Mrs. Dalton from her 
thoughts altogether. But Miss Mann was too much excited by 
Miss Leigh’s extenuating remarks, to let the subject drop, and 
returned with fresh vigor to the charge. 

It is totally beyond my power,” she cried, “to do justice to her 
vanity and frivolity. No one ever before accused me of being ill- 
natured, or censorious. But that woman is the vainest person I 
ever saw. How she values herself upon her fine clothes. Did you 
notice, my dear Mrs. F., that she changed her dress three times yes- 
terday, and twice to-day? She knelt a whole hour before the 
cheval-glass, arranging her hair, and trying on a variety of expen- 
sive head-dresses, before she could fix on one for the saloon. X 
should be ashamed of being the only lady among so many men. 
But she is past blushing — she has a face of brass.” 

“ And so plain, too,” murmured Mrs. Major F. 

“You cannot deny that her features are good, ladies,” again 
interposed Miss Leigh. “ But creoles seldom possess the fine red 
and white of our British belles.” 

“At night,” suggested Miss Mann, “her color is remarkably 
good ; it is not subject to any variation like ours. The Weak sea 
air does not dim the roses on her cheeks ; while these young ladies 
look as blue and as cold as figures carved out of stone. Of course, 
Miss Leigh will think me very uncharitable in saying that Mrs. D. 
paints ; but I know she does. She left her dressing-case open 
yesterday, and her little boy was dabbling his fingers in her French 
carmine and pearl white, and a fine mess he made of his mamma’s 
beautiful complexion. Bless me!” exclaimed the old maid, sud- 
denly lowering her voice to a whisper, “ if there is not her black 
imp sitting under the table ; he will be sure to tell her all that wf 


KLOR^ LYNDSAY. 


ii5 

have said about her I What a nuisance he is ! I do not think it 
is proper for him, a great boy of sixteen, to be admitted into the 
ladies’ cabin* 

“ Pshaw !” said Mrs. Major F, ; “ nobody cares for him — a 

black.” 

“ But, my dear Mrs. F., though he is a black, the boy has eyes 
and ears, like the rest of his sex, and my sense of female propriety 
is shocked by his presence. But, who are these people ?’* — glanc- 
ing at Flora and her maid — “ and why is that woman admitted int(r 
the ladies’ cabin? — servants have no business here.” 

“ She is the nurse ; that alters the case,” said Miss Leigh. 
‘‘ The plea of being the children’s attendant, brought Master Hec- 
tor into the cabin.” 

“ The boy is black, and has, on that score, as Mrs. Major F. 
says, neither rank nor sex,” continued the waspish Miss Mann, con- 
tradicting the objections she had made to Hector’s company only a 
few minutes before. I will not submit to this insult, nor occupy 
the same apartment with a servant.” 

“ My dear Madam, you strangely forget yourself,” said Miss 
Leigh. This lady has a very young infant, and cannot do with- 
out the aid of her nurse. A decent, tidy young woman is not 
quite such a nuisance as the noisy black boy that Mrs. Dalton has 
entailed upon us.” 

“ But, then, she is a woman of fashion,** whispered Miss Mann ; 

and we know nothing about these people ; and if I were to judge 
by the young person’s dress ” 

“ A very poor criterion,” interrupted Miss Leigh ; ** I draw my 
inferences from a higher source. 

Flora glanced once more at her dress, and a sarcastic smile passed 
over her face. It did not escape the observation of Miss Leigh, 
who, turning towards her, inquired, in a kind, friendly tone, ‘‘ If 
she were going all the way to Edinburgh, the age of the baby, and 
how both were affected by the sea.” 

Before Flora could answer these questions. Miss Mann addressed 
her, and said, with great asperity of look and manner — 

“ Perhaps, madam, you are not aware that it is against the reg- 
ulations of these vessels to admit servants into the state cabin. 

“ I am sorry, ladies,” said Flora, rather proudly, “ that the pres- 
ence of mine should incommode you. I have only just recovered 
from a dangerous illness, and I am unable at present to take the 


116 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


whole charge of the child myself. I have paid for my servant’s 
attendance upon me in the cabin, and I am certain that she will 
conduct herself in a manner that will not offend the prejudices of 
any one here.” 

“ How unpleasant,” grumbled the old maid, as she turned dis- 
dainfully on her heel ; “ but what else can be expected from under- 
bred people ?” 

“ Who wear stuff gownSj^ said Flora, maliciously. 

Miss Leigh looked up with an amused smile on her fine intelli- 
gent countenance ; and the little woman in black retreated once 
more to the couch of the big lady. 

“ Send away your nurse,” said Miss Leigh, in a low voice, to 
Mrs. Lyndsay ; her presence gives great offence to certain smalU 
minded people, and if I may judge by her pale looks, she will be 
of little service to you ; I will help you to take care of your sweet 
baby.” 

Flora immediately complied with Miss Leigh’s request. Han- 
nah was dismissed, and, indeed, the poor girl had enough to do to 
take care of herself. She was so miserably ill during the voyage, 
that, from the moment she left the cabin, she was unable to rise from 
her bed until the vessel made her port. 

Towards evening the wind rose to a gale, and Flora, who had not 
suffered from sickness during her two disastrous trips to sea, became 
so alarmingly ill, that she was unable to attend to the infant, or 
assist herself. Miss Leigh, like a good Samaritan, sat up with her 
during the night, but in the morning she was so much worse, that 
she earnestly requested that her husband might be allowed to see 
her. 

Her petition was warmly seconded by Miss Leigh, but met with 
a decided refusal from the rest of the lady-passengers. Mrs. Dalton, 
who took a very prominent part in the matter, sprang from her 
berth, and putting her back against the cabin door, declared “ that 
no man save the surgeon should gain, with her consent, an entrance 
there !” 

“ Then I hope. Madam,” said Miss Leigh, who was supporting 
Flora in her arms, “ that you will adhere to your own regulations, 
and dismiss your black boy.” 

“ I shall do no such thing ; my objection is to men, and not to 
boys. Hector, remain where you are !” 

“ How consistent !” sneered the old maid. 


i*Lr)KA LYNDSAY. 


Ill 


“ The poor lady may die,” suggested Miss Leigh. 

‘‘ Send for the Doctor — there is one on board.” 

The Doctor, ladies,” said the stewardess, coming forward, ** got 
hurt last night by the fall of the sail during the storm, and is ill in 
his bed.” 

If such be the case,” continued Miss Leigh, you cannot surely 
deny the lady the consolation of speaking to her husband ! 

Who is her husband ?” said the old maid, snappishly. 

A very gentlemanly man, I assure you,” said Mrs. Dalton : 

he is an officer in the army, with whom I had a long chat last 
night ill the saloon.” 

Very consoling to his sick wife,” whispered Miss Mann to Mrs. 
Major F., just loud enough to be overheard by Mrs. Dalton ; “ it 
must have made the Major jealous.” 

What a noise that squalling child makes !” cried a fat woman, 
popping her night-capped head out of an upper berth ; can’t it be 
removed ? It hinders me from getting a wink of sleep.” 

Children are a great nuisance,” said Miss Mann, glancing 
towards Mrs. Dalton ; and the older they are, the worse they 
behave.” 

Stewardess ! — ^where are you. Stewardess ! Send that noisy 
babe to the nurse I” again called the fat woman from her berth. 

The nurse,” returned that important personage, “ is as ill as 
the mistress.” 

Oh, dear !- — oh, dear ! — my poor head ! Cannot you take 
charge of it, Stewardess ?” 

“Oh, la! I’ve too much upon my hands already — what with 
Mrs. Dalton’s children and all this sickness !” 

“ Have a little mercy, ladies, on the sick mother, and I will 
endeavor to pacify its cries,” said Miss Leigh. “ Poor little thing, 
it misses her care, and we are all strange to it.” 

“ I insist upon its being removed !” cried the fat woman. “ The 
comfort of every lady in the cabin is not to be sacrificed for the 
sake of that squalling brat. If women choose to travel with such 
young infants, they should take a private conveyance. I will 
complain to the Captain, if the stewardess does not remove it 
instantly.” 

These words reached Mrs. Lyndsay’s ears, just as she was recov- 
ering from a long and severe fainting fit, and, starting from Miss 
Leigh’s supporting arms, she staggered to the berth, just as the 


118 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


itewardess took up the child, and exclaimed, in a tone of alarm, 
whilst a passionate burst of tears rendered her voice almost inar- 
ticulate, “ Oh, my poor baby !— do not take away my baby 1 If it 
must be expelled, we will go together. If I could but get upon 
the deck to my husband, we should not meet with the treatment 
there that we have received here.’^ 

“ Don’t Vatigue yourself,” said Miss Leigh, “ they have no power 
to send either you or the dear little babe away. I will nurse you 
both — see I the pretty darling is already asleep.” 

Shel^arried Josey to her own berth in the state cabin, and then 
undressed Flora, who was fast relapsing into her former insensible 
state, and put her to bed. 

What a difference there is in women I Some, like ministering 
angels, strew flowers and scatter blessings along the rugged paths 
of life ; while others, by their malevolence and pride, increase its 
sorrows an hundred fold. 

The next day continued stormy, and the rain fell in torrents. 
The unsteady motion of the ship did not tend to improve the health 
of the occupants of the ladies’ cabin. Those who had been well the 
day before, were now as helpless and miserable as their companions. 
Miss Leigh alone seemed to retain her usual composure. Mrs. Dal- 
ton could scarcely be named in this catalogue, as she only slept and 
dressed in the cabin ; the rest of her time was devoted to her friends 
upon deck, and, in spite of the boisterous winds and heavy sea, she 
was as gay and as airy as ever. 

Her children, the most noisy of their species, were confined to 
the cabin, where they amused themselves by running races round 
the table, and shouting at the top of their shrill voices, greatly to 
the annoyance of the sick women. In all their pranks, they were 
encouraged and abetted by Hector, who, regardless of the entreat- 
ies of the invalids, and the maledictions of the exasperated stew- 
ardess, did his very best to increase the uproar and confusion. 
Hector did not care for the commands of any one but his mistress, 
and she was in the saloon, playing at draughts with Major F. 

Little Willie Dalton had discovered the baby, and Flora was ter- 
rified whenever he approached her berth, which was on a level with 
the floor of the cabin, as that young gentleman, who was at the 
unmanageable age of three years, seemed decidedly bent on mis- 
chief. Twice he had crept into her bed on his hands and knees, and 
aimed a blow at the head of the sleeping babe with the leg of a 


ILOKA LfiSDSAi. 


lly 

broken chair, which he had found beneath the sofa. The attack had 
been warded off by Mrs. Lyndsay, but not without receiving 
a severe bruise on her arm in the scuffle. 

While the ladies slept, Hector stole from berth to berth, and pos- 
sessed himself of all their stores of oranges, lemons, and cayenne 
lozenges ; sharing the spoils with the troublesome, spoilt monkeys, 
left by their careful mamma in his keeping. 

Towards evening Mrs. Lyndsay felt greatly recovered from her 
grievous attack of sea-sickness ; and, with the assistance of Miss 
Leigh, she contrived to dress herself, and get upon the deck. 

The rain was still falling in large, heavy drops ; but the sun was 
bravely struggling through the dense masses of black clouds, that 
had obscured his rays during the long, stormy day, and now cast 
a watery and uncertain gleam upon the wild scenery, over which 
Bamborough Castle frowns in savage sublimity. 

This was the last glance Flora gave to the shores of dear old 
England. The angry, turbulent ocean, the lowering sky, and falling 
rain, seemed emblems of her own sad destiny. Her head sunk upon 
her husband’s shoulder, as he silently clasped her to his breast ; 
and she could only answer his anxious inquiries respecting herself 
and the child with heavy sobs. For his sake — for the sake of the 
little one, who was nestled closely to her throbbing heart— she had 
consented to leave those shores for ever. Then why did she repine ? 
Why did that last glance of her native land fill her breast with such 
unutterable grief? Visions of the dim future floated before her, 
prophetic of all the trials and sorrows that awaited her in those 
unknown regions to which they were journeying. She had obeyed 
the call of duty, but had not yet tasted the reward. The sacrifice 
had not been as yet purified and sublimed, by long suffering and 
self-denial, so as to render it an acceptable offering on so holy a 
shrine. She looked up to heaven, and tried to breathe a prayer ; 
but all was still and dark in her bewildered mind. 

The kind voice of the beloved at last roused her from the indul- 
gence of vain regrets. The night was raw and cold ; the decks 
wet and slippery from the increasing rain ; and, with an affectionate 
pressure of the hand, that went far to reconcile her to her lot, Lynd- 
say whispered, “ This is no place for you. Flora, and my child. 
Return, dearest, to the cabin.” 

With reluctance Flora obeyed. Beside him she felt neither the 


120 


FLORA LTNDSAY 


cold nor wet ; and, with the greatest repugnance, she re-entered 
the larliVc’ cabin, and retiring to her berth, enjoyed, for several 
Hours, a tranquil and refreshing sleep. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

MRS. DALTON. 

If WAS midnight when Mrs. Lyndsay awoke. A profound still- 
ness feigned in the cabin ; the invalids had forgotten their suffer- 
ings in sleep — all but one female figure, who was seated upon the 
carpeted floor, just in front of Flora’s berth, wrapped in a loose 
drecsing-gown, and engaged in reading a letter. Flora instantly 
recognised in the watcher the tall, graceful figure of Mrs. Dalton. 

Her mind seemed agitated by some painful recollections ; and she 
sighed frequently, and several bright tears stole slowly over her 
cheeks, as she replaced the paper carefully in her bosom, and for 
Fiftnv minutes appeared lost in deep and earnest thought. All her 
accustomed gayety was gone ; and her fine features wore a sad and 
regretful expression, far more touching and interesting than the 
heartless levity by which they were generally distinguished. 

“Is it possible, that that frivolous mind can be touched by 
grief?” thought Flora — “ that that woman can feel ?” 

Mrs. Dalton, as if she had heard the unuttered query, raised her 
head, and caught the intense glance with which Mrs. Lyndsay was 
unconsciously regarding her. 

“ I thought no one was awake but myself,” she said ; “ I am a 
bad sleeper. If you are the same, we will have a little chat 
together ; I am naturally a sociable animal ; of all comnany. I find 
my own the worst, and above all things hate to be alone.” 

Surprised at this frank invitation, from a woman who had pro- 
nounced her nobody, on no other account than that of wearing a 
plain but suitable dress. Flora replied, rather coldly, “ I fear, Mrs. 
Dalton, that our conversation would not suit each other.” 

“ That is as much as to say, that you don’t like me ; and that 
you conclude from that circumstance, that I don’t like vou ?” 

“ To be candid, then — you are rignt." 

“ I fancy that you overheard my observations to Major F. ?” 

« I did.” 

Well, if you did, I can forgive you for disliking me. When 1 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


121 


first saw you, I thought you a very plain person, and judged by 
your dress, that you held a very inferior rank m society. After 
listening a few minutes to your conversation with Miss Leigh, who 
is a highly educated woman, I felt convinced that I was wrong ; 
and that you were far superior to most of the women round me. 
Of course you thought me a very malicious, vain woman.” 

Flora smiled, in spite of herself. 

.“Oh, you may speak it out. I deserve to be punished for my 
want of discrimination. I shan’t like you a bit the less for speak- 
ing the truth. I am a strange, wayward creature, subject at times 
to the most dreadful depression of spirits ; and it is only by aflect- 
ing excessive gayety that I hinder myself from Tailing into the most 
hopeless despondency.” 

“ Such a state of mind is not natural to one of your age, and 
who possesses so many personal attractions. There must be some 
cause for these fits of gloom.” 

“ Of course there is. I am not quite the heartless coquette ] 
seem. My father was an officer in the army, and commanded a 
regiment in the West Indies, where I was born. I was an only 
child, and very much indulged by both my parents. I lost them 
while I was a mere child, and was sent to Scotland to be educat(?d 
by my grandmother. I was an irritable, volatile, spoilt child, and 
expected that everybody would yield to me, as readily as my slave 
attendants had done in Jamaica. In this I was disappointed. My 
grandmother was a proud, ambitious woman, and a strict disci- 
plinarian ; and it was a constant battle between us who should be 
master. I was no match, however, for the old lady, and I fretted 
constantly under her control, longing for any chance that might 
free me from her rule. It was a joyful day for me, when I was 
Bent to finish my education at one of the first schools in Edinburgh, 
which I did not leave until I was sixteen years of age. I found 
grandmamma several years older, and many degrees more exacting 
than she was before. She was so much alarmed lest I should 
make an unsuitable alliance, that she never suffered me to go out 
without I was accompanied by herself, or an old maiden aunt, 
who was more rigid and stiff than even grandmamma herself. 

“ At this period of my girlhood, and before I had seen anything 
of the world, or could in the least judge for myself, a very wealthy 
clergyman, who had been a great friend of poor papa’s, called to 
Bee me before he returned to Jamaica, where he had a fine living, 

6 


122 


FLORA 


LYNDSAY. 


and possessed a noble property. Unfortunately for me, he fell des- 
perately in love with the orphan daughter of his friend, and his suit 
was vehemently backed by grandmamma and aunt. He was a 
handsome, worthy, kind man, but old enough to have been my 
father. I was so unhappy and restless at home that I was easily 
persuaded to become his wife ; and I, who had never been in love, 
thought it such a fine thing to be married, and my own mistress at 
sixteen. Our union has not been a happy one. I much question 
if such unions ever are. He is now an aged man, while I am in 
the very bloom of life, and consequently exposed to much tempta- 
tion. Thank God ! I never acted criminally, though often severely 
tried. My home is one of many luxuries, but has no domestic joys. 
My children are the only tie that bind me to a man I cannot 
love ; and I have been so long used to drown my disappointment 
and regret in a whirl of dissipation, that it is only in scenes of 
gayety that I forget my grief. 

“ My own sex speak lightly of me ; but I do not deserve their 
severe censures. My fellow-passengers, I heard from Hector, made 
a thousand malicious remarks about me yesterday, and that you 
and Miss Leigh were the only ones that took my part.” 

“ My conduct,” replied Flora, “ was perfectly negative. I said 
nothing either in praise or blame. I may have injured you by 
thinking hardly of you.” 

“ I thank you for your forbearance, in keeping your thoughts to 
yourself, for I did not deserve that from you. The conversation 
that Hector repeated to me greatly annoyed me. It has brought 
on one of my gloomy fits. If I did flirt a little with Major F., it 
was done more to provoke the spleen of that ill-natured old maid, 
who acts the part of Cerberus for his proud, pompous wife, than 
for any wish to attract his attention.” 

“ It is better,” said Flora, her heart softening towards her com- 
panion, “ to avoid all appearance of evil. Superficial observers 
only judge by outward appearance, and your conduct must have 
appeared strange to a jealous woman.” 

She was jealous of me then ?” cried the volatile Mrs. Dalton, 
clapping her hands in an ecstasy of delight. “ Oh, I am so glad 
that it annoyed her !” 

Flora could not help laughing at the vivacity with which she 
turned her words to make them subservient to her own vanity. But 
when she described the consternation felt by Miss Mann, on discov* 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


123 


mng Hector under the table, her eccentric companion laughed untii 
the tears ran down her cheeks. 

The introduction of Hector insensibly turned the conversation 
upon the state of the slaves in the West Indies. The excitement 
of the slave question was just then at its height ; but the bill for 
their emancipation had not yet passed the houses of parliament. 
Upon Flora expressing her abhorrence of the whole system, Mrs. 
Dalton proceeded to defend it with no little warmth. 

“ Ah, I perceive that you know nothing about it. You are 
infected with the bigotry and prejudices of the anti-slavery advo- 
cates. Negroes are an inferior race ; they were made to work for 
civilized men, in climates where labor v/ould be death to those of a 
different complexion.” 

“ This is reducing the African to a mere beast of burthen — a 
machine in the form of man. The just God never made a race of 
beings purposely to drag out a painful existence in perpetual toil 
and degradation.” 

They are better off than your peasants at home,” continued Mrs. 
Dalton, indignantly — “ better fed and taken care of. As to the 
idle tales they tell you about flogging, starvation, and killing slaves, 
they are fearful exaggerations, not worthy of credit. Do you think 
a farmer would kill a horse that he knew was worth a hundred 
pounds, out of revenge ‘fbr his having done some trifling injury to 
his harness ? A planter would not disable a valuable slave, if by 
so doing he injured himself. But your slave adorers will not listen 
to reason and common sense. I have been the owner of many 
slaves, but I never ill-used one of them in my life.” 

“ Hector is an example of over-indulgence,” said Flora but 
still he is only a pet animal in your estimation. Tell me truly, 
Mrs. Dalton, do you believe that a negro has a soul to be saved ?’* 
I think it doubtful 1” 

“And you the wife of a Christian minister?” said Flora, 
reproachfully. 

“ If they had immortal souls and reasoning minds, we should not 
be permitted to hold them as slaves. Their degradation proves 
their inferiority.” 

“ It only proves the brutalizing effects of your immoral system,” 
said Flora, waxing warm. “ I taught a black man from the island 
of St. Vincent’s to read the Bible fluently in ten weeks. Was 
that a proof of mental incapacity ? I never met with an unedu- 


124 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


rated white man who learned to read so rapidly, or whc pursued 
his studies with the ardor of this despised, soulless black. His 
motive for this exertion was a noble one, which I believe cost him 
his life — the hope of carrying the glad tidings of salvation to his 
benighted countrymen, - which he considered the best means of 
improving their condition, and rendering less burdensome their 
oppressive yoke.” 

“ This was all very well in theory ; but it will never do in 
practice. If the British Government, urged on by a set of fana- 
tics, who, in reality, are more anxious to bring themselves into 
notice than to emancipate the slaves, madly persist in adopting 
their ridiculous project, it will involve the West Indies in rain.” 

“ It were better that the whole group of islands were sunk in 
the depths of the sea,” said Flora, vehemently, “ than continue to 
present to the world a system of injustice and cruelty, that is a 
disgrace to a Christian community — a spectacle of infamy to the 
civilized world. Nor think that the wise and good men who are 
engaged heart and hand in this holy cause, will cease their exer- 
tions until their great object is accomplished, and slavery is ban- 
ished from the earth.” 

Mrs. Dalton stared at Flora in amazement. She could not in 
the least comprehend her enthusiasm. “ Who cares for a slave?” 
she said, contemptuously. ‘‘ You must live among them, and be 
conversant with their habits, before you can understand their 
inferiority. One would think that you belonged to the Anti- 
Slavery Society, to hear the warmth with which you argue the 
case. Do you belong to that odious Society ? — for I understand 
that many pious women make themselves vastly busy in publicly 
discussing the black question.” 

“ I have many dear friends who are among its staunch sup- 
porters — both men and women, whose motives are purely benevo- 
lent, who have nothing to gain by the freedom of the slaves, 
beyond the satisfaction of endeavoring to forward a good work, 
which, if it succeeds, (and we pray God that it may,) will restore 
a large portion of the human family to their rights as immortal 
and rational creatures.” 

“ Mere cant — the vanity of making a noise in the world — one 
of the refined hypocrisies of the present age. By-the-bye, liiy dear 
Madam, have you read a tract published lately by this disinterested 
Society, called the History of Mary P — — ? It is set forth to be 


FLORA LYNDSA^. 


125 


an authentic narrative, while I know enough of the West Indies, 
to pronounce it a tissue of falsehoods from beginning to end.” 

“ Did you know Mary P ?” 

“ I wonder who does ? It is an imaginary tale got up for party 
purposes.” 

“ You are mistaken,” said Flora, quietly. “ That narrative is 
strictly true. I was staying, the winter before last, with her mis- 
tress in London, and I wrote it myself from the woman’s own lips.” 

“ You !” and Mrs. Dalton started from the ground as though she 
had been bitten by a serpent — “ and I have been talking all this 
time to the author of Mary P — . From this moment. Madam, we 
must regard ourselves as strangers. No West Indian could for a 
moment tolerate the writer of that odious pamphlet.” 

Mrs. Dalton retired to her berth, which was in the state cabin ; 
and Flora lay awake for several hours, pondering over their conver- 
sation, until the morning broke, and the steamer cast anchor oflf 
New Haven. 


CHAPTER XX. 

EDINBURGH. 

The storm had passed away during the night ; and at day-break 
Flora hurried upon deck, to catch the first glance of 

“ The glorious land of flood and fell. 

The noble north countrie.” 

The sun was still below the horizon, and a thick mist hung ovei 
the waters, and hid the city from her view. Oh, for the rising of 
that white curtain! how Flora tried to peer through its vapory 
folds, to 

“ Hail old Scotia’s darling seat,” 

the beautiful abode of brave, intelligent, true-hearted men, and fair 
good women. Glorious Edinburgh 1 who ever beheld you for the 
fii-st time with indifierence, and felt not his eyes brighten, and his 
heart thrill with a proud ecstasy, the mingling of his spirit with 
a scene, which in romantic sublimity, has not its equal in the wide 
world 

“ Who would not dare 
To fight for such a land 1” 

exclaims the patriotic wizard of the north. Aye, and to die for it, 


126 


FLORA LYNOSAY. 


if need be, as every true-hearted Scot would die, rather than see one 
stain cast upon the national glory of his noble country. The char- 
acter of a people is greatly influenced by the local features of the 
land to which it belongs ; and the inhabitants of mountainous dis- 
tricts have ever evaded most eflectually the encroachments of foi - 
eign invaders. The Scot may, perhaps, derive from his romantic 
country, much of that poetic temperament, that stern, uncompro- 
mising love of independence, which has placed him in the first rank 
as a man. 

The sun at length rose ; the fog rolled its grey masses upwards, 
and the glorious old castle emerged from between the parting 
clouds, like some fabled palace of the gods, its antique towers 
glittering like gold in the sun-burst. 

Beautiful ! oh, how beautiful I” exclaimed the enraptured Flora, 
her eye kindling, and her cheek flushing with delight. 

The situation of Quebec is almost as fine,” said Captain Forbes, 
who had been watching with pleasure the effect which the first 
sight of his native city produced upon her countenance. “ It will 
lose little by comparison.” 

Indeed !” cried Flora, eagerly, turning to the speaker ; I had 
formed no idea of anything in Canada being at all equal to this.” 

“ You have been there. Captain?” said Lyndsay. 

Yes, many times ; and always with increased pleasure. Que- 
bec combines every object that is requisite to make a scene truly 
magnificent — woods, mountains, rivers, cataracts — and all on the 
most stupendous scale. A lover of nature cannot fail to be 
delighted with the rock-defended fortress of British North Ame- 
rica.” 

“ You have made me quite happy. Captain Forbes,” said Flora ; 
“ I have contemplated a residence in Canada with feelings of such 
antipathy, that your description of Quebec almost reconciles me to 
my lot. I can never hate a country which abounds in natural 
beauties.” 

Boats were now constantly plying to and from the shore, con- 
veying passengers and their luggage from the ship to the pier. 
The Captain, who had recognised a countryman in Lyndsay, 
insisted on the voyagers taking breakfast with him before they left 
the vessel. Mrs. Lyndsay had suffered so much from sea-sickness, 
that she had not tasted food since she came on board ; early rising 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


121 


and the keen, invigorating air had sharpened her appetite, which 
wa.i increased by the savory smell of fried ham and eggs. The 
offer was too tempting to be resisted, and she accepted it with such 
hearty good will, that the Captain laughed, and rubbed his hands 
in the excess of hospitable satisfaction, as he called to his steward 
to place a small table under an awning upon the deck, and serve 
the breakfast there. 

‘‘You will enjoy it much more in the fresh air, Mrs. Lyndsay,’* 
he said, “ after your severe illness, than in the close cabin.” 

Flora was delighted with the arrangement, and set the Captain 
down as a man of taste, as by this means he had provided for her 
a double feast — the beautiful scenery which on every side met her 
gaze, and an excellent breakfast, served in the balmy morning air. 

The rugged grace with which the gallant tar presided at what 
might be termed his own private table, infused a cheerful spirit 
into those around him, and never was a meal more heartily enjoyed 
by our emigrants. James Hawke, who had been confined during 
the whole voyage to his berth, now rejoined his friends, and ate of 
the savory things before him in such downright earnest, that the 
Captain declared it was a pleasure to watch the lad handle his knife 
and fork. 

“ When a fellow has been starving for eight and-forty-hours, it is 
not a trifle that can satisfy his hunger,” said Jim, making a vigor- 
ous onslaught upon a leg of Scotch mutton. “ Oh ! but I never 
was so hungry in my life 1” 

“ Not even during those two disastrous days last week, which we 
spent starving at sea?” said Flora. 

Ah, don’t name them,” said the boy, with an air of intense dis- 
gust. “ Those days were attended with such qualms of conscience 
that I have banished them from the log of life altogether. Oh, 
those dreadful days !’^ 

“ Why, Jim, you make a worse sailor than I expected,” said 
Flora ; “ how shall we get you alive to Canada ?” 

“ Oh, never fear,” said the lad, gaily ; “ I have cast all those hor- 
rible reminiscences into the sea ; I was very ill, but ’tis all over 
now, and I feel as light as a feather ; you shall see that I shall be 
quite myself again, directly we leave sight of the British shores.” 

On returning to the ladies’ cabin, to point out her luggage to the 
boat’s stewardess. Flora found that important functionary of the 
gender feminine, pacing to and fro the now empty scene of all her 


128 


1} LtijhA. 1jYxM/(3a\ 


trouble in high disdain. She had paid very little attention to Mra 
Lyndsay during the voyage, for which neglect, in all probability, 
the merino gown was the sole cause. She had waited with the 
most obsequious, fawning politeness on Mrs. Major F. and Mrs. 
Dalton, because she fancied they were rich people, who would amply 
reward her for her services. They had given her all the trouble 
they possibly could, while she had received few commands from 
Flora, and those she had neglected'to perform. Still, as Flora well 
knew that the paid salary of these people is small, and that they 
mainly depend upon the trifles bestowed upon them by passengers, 
who try their strength and patience to the uttermost, she slipped 
half-a-crown into her hand, and begged her to see that the trunks 
she had pointed out were carried upon deck. 

The woman stared at her, and dropped a low courtesy — ^yes — in 
the very shadow of the ample folds of Flora's despised merino 
gown. 

“ La, Mem, you are one of the very few of our passengers, who 
has been kind enough to remember the stewardess. It’s too bad — - 
indeed it is. And all the trouble that that Mrs. Dalton gave with 
her spoilt children, and nasty black vagabond. I was out of my 
bed all last night with those cross noisy brats — and thinks I to 
myself — she cannot do less than give me half a sovereign for my 
services. But would you believe me, she went off without bestow- 
ing on me a single penny ? And worse than that, I heard her tell 
t?ie big fat woman, that never rose up in her berth, but to drink 
brandy-and-water, ‘ that it was a bad fashion the Hinglish had of 
paying servants, and the sooner rt was got rid of, the better.” 

“ I perfectly hagrees with you, said the fat woman ; and so she 
gave nothing no — not even thanks. Mrs. Major F pre- 

tended not to see me, though I am sure I’m no midge ; and I stood 
in the doorway on purpose to give her a hint ; but the hideous little 
old maid told me to get out of the way, as she wanted to go upon 
deck to speak to the Major. Oh, the meanness of these would-be 
fine ladies ! But if ever they come to Scotland in this boat again, 
won’t I pay them off!” 

Now it must be confessed that Flora rather enjoyed these unso- 
licited confessions of a disappointed stewardess ; and she was forced 
to turn away her head for fear of betraying a wicked inclination to 
laugh, which, if indulged in at that moment would I have no doubt, 
have afforded her great satisfaction a ad delight. As it was, she 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


129 


made no comment upon the meanness of her fellow-passengers, nor 
consoled the excited stewardess by complaining of their unlady-like 
conduct to herself. What they were in their rank of life, the stew- 
ardess was in hers. They were congenial souls — all belonging to 
the same family, and Flora was not a little amused by the striking 
points of resemblance. 

Bidding adieu to the Captain of the steamer, the Lyndsays and 
their luggage were safely landed on the chain-pier at New Haven ; 
from thence they proceeded to Leith in a hackney coach, as Lynd- 
say wished to procure lodgings as near the place of embarkation as 
possible, in order to avoid all unnecessary expense. Leaving Flora 
and her maid at the inn, he set off with James Hawke in search of 
what he required ; and returning in less than an hour, he conducted 
his wife to the house of a respectable woman, the widow of a sur- 
geon, who resided near the Lieth Bank, and only a few minutes’ 
walk from the wharf. 


CHAPTER XXL 

MRS. WADDEL. 

Great was the surprise of Flora, when, instead of entering the 
house by a front door, they walked up an interminable flight of 
stone stairs, every landing comprising a distinct dwelling, or flat 
(as it is there technically termed), with the names of the proprie- 
tors marked on the doors. At last they reached the flat that was 
occupied by good Mistress Waddel, which was situated at the very 
top of this stony region. Mrs. Waddel was at the door ready to 
receive them. She showed them into a comfortable sitting-room 
with windows fronting the street. A bright fire was blazing in a 
very old-fashioned grate ; and she welcomed her new lodgers with 
a torrent of kindly words, pronounced in the broadest Scotch dia- 
lect, which were only half understood by the English portion of her 
audience. 

A large, portly personage was Mrs. Waddel — ugly, amiable, and 
by no means over-particular in her dress ; which consisted of a 
woolen-plaid, very much faded, and both ragged and dirty. Her 
large mutch, with its broad frills, formed a sort of glory round her 
headj setting off to no advantage her pock-marked, flabby face, 
wide mouth and yellow projecting teeth. She had a comical, good- 

6 * 


130 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


natured obliqury of vision in her prominent light-grey eyes, wlileh 
were very red about the rims ; and Flora thought, as she read with 
an inquiring eye the countenance of their landlady, that, without 
being positively disgusting, she was the most ordinary, uncouth 
woman she ever beheld. 

Mrs. Waddel was eloquent' in the praise of her apartments, which 
she said had been occupied by my Leddy W., when his Majesty 
George the Fourth — God bless his sonsie face — landed at Leith, on 
his visit to Scotland. Her lodgings, it seemed, had acquired quite 
an aristocratic character since the above-named circumstances ; 
and not a day passed, but the good woman enumerated all the par- 
ticulars of that memorable visit. But her own autobiography was 
the stock-theme with the good landlady. The most minute par- 
ticulars of her private history she daily divulged, to the unspeak- 
able delight of the mischievous, laughter-loving James Hawke, 
who, because he saw that it annoyed Mrs. Lyndsay, was sure to 
lead the conversation slily to some circumstance that never failed 
to place the honest-hearted Scotch woman on her high-horse : 
and then she would talk — ye gods! — how she would talk — and 
spluttei away in her broad pr ovincial dialect, until the wicked boy 
was convulsed with laughter. 

“Aye, Mister Jeames,” she would say, “ ye will a’ be makin’ yer 
fun o’ a puir auld bodie, but ’tis na’ cannie o’ ye.” 

“ Making fun of you^ Mrs. Waddel ” — with a sly glance at Flora 
— “ how can you take such an odd notion into your head I It is 
so good of you to tell me all about your courtship — it’s giving me 
a hint of how I’m to go about it when I’m a man. I am sure you 
were a very pretty, smart girl in your young days ” — with another 
quizzical glance at Flora. 

The old lady drew herself up, and smiled approvingly upon her 
black-eyed tormentor. 

“ Na, na, Mister Jeames, my gude man that’s dead an’ gane sai<l 
to me, the verra day that made me his ain — ‘ Katie, ye are nae bon- 
nie, but ye a’ gude, which is a’ hantle better.’ ” 

“No doubt he was right, Mrs. Waddel ; but I really think he 
was very ungallant to say so on his wedding-day, and did not do 
you half justice.” 

“ Weel, weel,” said the good dame, “ every ain to his taste. He 
was not o’wr gifted that way himsel ,* but we are nane sensible o’ 
our ain defects ” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


131 


The great attraction in the small, windowless closet in w nich 
James slept, was an enormous calabash, w^hich her son, the idol of 
Mrs. Waddel’s heart, had brought home with him from the South 
Seas. Over this calabash, the simple-hearted mother daily rehearsed 
all the wonderful adventures she had gathered from that individual, 
during his short visits home, and as she possessed a surprisingly 
retentive memory, her maternal reminiscences would have filk3d vol- 
umes — to all of which James listened with the most earnest atten- 
tion ; .not on account of the adventures, for they were common-place 
enough, but for the mere pleasure of hearing Mrs. Waddel talk 
broad Scotch, from which he seemed to derive the most ludicrous 
enjoyment. Mrs. Waddel had two daughters, to whom nature had 
been less bountiful than even to herself. Tall, awkward, shapeless 
dawdles, whose unlovely youth was more repulsive than the mother’s 
full-blown, homely age — with them the old lady’s innocent obliquity 
of vision had degenerated into a downright squint, and the redness 
round the rims of their large, fishy-looking, light eyes, gave you 
the idea of perpetual weeping; a pair of Niobes, versus the beauty., 
whose swollen orbs were always dissolved in tears. They crept 
slip-shod about the house, their discolored stockings hanging in 
loose folds about their thin, bony, ill-shaped legs, and their morning 
wrappers fitting so easily their wide, slovenly figures, that you 
expected to see them suddenly fall to the ground, and the young 
ladies walk on in native simplicity. 

“ My daughters are like myself — na’ bonnie,” said Mrs. Waddel. 
“They dinna’ tak’ wi’ the men folk, wha look mair to comeliness 
than gudeness now-a-days in a wife. A’ weel, every dog maun ha* 
his day, an’ they may get husbands yet. 

“ I weel remember, when Noncy was a bairn, she was the maist 
ugsome wee thing I ever clappit an e’e upon. My Leddy W. 
lodged in this verra room, in the which we are no* sittiu’. She 
had a daughter, nearly a woman grown, an’ I was in my sma’ back 
parlor washin’ an’ dressin’ the bairn, — in runs my Leddy Grace, 
an’ she stood an’ lookit an’ lookit a lang time at the naked bairn 
in my lap : at last she clappit her hands, an’ she called o’ot to her 
mither — ‘ Mamma ! mamma ! for gudeness sake, come here, an’ 
look at this ugly, blear-eyed, bandy-legget child ! — I never saw sic 
an object in a’ my life !’ 

“ It made ray heart sair to hear her despise a creture made in 
God’s image in that way, an’ I bursted into tears, an’ said — ‘ My 


132 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ledda, ye’r a bad Christian to spier in that way o’ my puir bairn, 
an’ that in the bearin’ of its ain mither. May God forgive you ; 
’^ut you ha’ a hard heart.’ She was verra angry at my reproof, 
but my Leddy W. just then came in, an’ she said, with one of her 
ain gracious smiles — ^ For shame, Grace ; the bairn’s weel enough 
Let us hope she maun prove a blessin’ to her parents. The 
^traightest tree does na’ always bear the finest fruit.’ 

‘‘ I ha’ met wi’ mony crosses and sair trials in my day ; but few 
o’ them made me shed bitterer tears than that proud, handsome 
young leddy ’s speech on the deformity o’ my puir bairn.” 

Flora stood reproved in her own eyes, for she knew she had 
regarded the poor, ugly girls with feelings of repugnance, on 
account of their personal defects. Even Jim, careless and reckless 
though he was, possessed an excellent heart, and he looked grave, 
and turned to the window, and tried to hum a tune, to get rid of 
an unpleasant sensation about bis throat, which Mrs. Waddel’s 
artless words had suddenly produced. 

Hang me,” he muttered half aloud, “ if I ever laugh at the 
poor girls again I” 

Mrs. Waddel had, in common with most of her sex, a great 
predilection for going to auctions ; and scarcely a day passed 
without her making some wonderful bargains. For a mere trifle, 
she had bought a gude pot ; only, upon inspection, it turned out to 
be miserably leaky. A nice palliasse, which, on more intimate 
acquaintance, proved alive with gentry with whom the most repub- 
lican body would not wish to be on intimate terms. Jim was 
always joking the old lady upon her bargains, greatly to the edifi- 
cation of Betty Fraser, a black-eyed Highland girl, who was Mrs. 
Waddel’s prime minister in the culinary department. 

“ Weel, Mister Jeames, jist ha’ yer laugh o’ot, but when ye get 
a glint o’ the bonnie table I bought this mornin’ for three an’ sax- 
pence, ye’ll be noo makin’ game o’ me ony mair, I’m thinkin’. 
Betty, ye maun just step o’ur the curb-stane to the broker’s, an’ 
bring hame the table.” 

Away sped the nimble-footed Betty, and we soon heard the clat- 
tering of the table, as the leaves flapped to and fro as she lugged 
it up the public stairs. 

“Now for the great bargain !” exclaimed the saucy Jim ; “I 
think, Mrs. Waddel, I’ll buy it of you, as my venture to Canada.” 

“ Did ye ever !” exclaimed the old lady, her eyes brightening as 


ITLUKA LYNDSAY. 


Idb 

Betty dragged in the last bargain, and placed it triumphantly 
before her mistress. Like the Marquis of Anglesea, it had been in 
the wars, and with a terrible clatter, the incomparable table fell 
prostrate to the floor. Betty opened her great black eyes with a 
glance of blank astonishment, and raising her hands with a tragic 
air that was perfectly irresistible, exclaimed, “ Mercy me, but it 
wants a fut 

“ A what ?” screamed Jim, as he sank beside the fallen table 
and rolled upon the ground in a fit of irrepressible merriment; 
“ Do, for Heaven’s sake, tell me the English for a fut. Oh dear, 
I shall die ! Why do you make such funny purchases, Mrs. Wad- 
del, and suffer Betty to show them off in such a funny way ? 
You win be the death of me, indeed you will ; and then, what will 
my mammy say ?” 

To add to this ridiculous scene, Mrs. Waddel’s grey parrot, who 
was not the least important personage in her establishment, having 
been presented to her by her sailor son, fraternized with the pros- 
trate lad, and echoed his laughter in the most outrageous man- 
ner. 

“ Whist, Poll ! Hauld yer clatter. It’s no laughing matter to 
lose three an’ saxpence in buying the like o’ that.” 

Mrs. Waddel did not attend another auction during the month 
the Lyndsays occupied her lodgings. With regard to Betty Fra- 
ser, Jim picked up a page out of her history, which greatly amused 
Flora Lyndsay, who delighted in the study of human character. 
We will give it here. 

Betty Fraser’s first mistress was a Highland lady, who had mar- 
ried and settled in Edinburgh. On her first confinement, she oould 
lancy no one but a Highland girl to take care of the babe, when 
the regular nurse was employed about her own person. She 
therefore wrote to her mother to send her by the first vessel that 
sailed for Edinburgh, a good, simple-hearted girl, whom she could 
occasionally trust with the baby. Betty, who was a tenant’s 
daughter, and a humble scion of the great family-tree, duly arrived 
by the next ship. 

She was a hearty, healthy, rosy girl of fourteen, as rough as her 
native wilds, with a mind so free from guile that she gave a literal 
interpretation to everything she saw and heard. 

In Canada, Betty would have been considered very green. In 
Scotland she was regarded as a truthful, simple-hearted girl. A 


134 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


few weeks after the baby was born, some ladies called to see Mra 
— — . The weather was very warm, and one of them requested 
the neat black-eyed girl in waiting to fetch her a glass of water. 
Betty obeyed with a smiling face ; but oh, horror of horrors i she 
brought the clear crystal to the lady guest in her red fist. 

The lady smiled, drank the water, and returned the tumbler to 
the black-eyed Hebe, who received it with a profound courtesy. 

When the visitors were gone, Mrs. , who was very fond of 

her young clanswoman, called her to her side, and said, “ Betty, let 
me never see you bring anything into my room in your bare hands. 
Always put what you are asked for on to a waiter or an ashat.” 

The girl promised obedience. 

The very next day some strange ladies called ; and after congratu- 
lating Mrs. on her speedy recovery, they expressed an earnest 

wish to see the dear little baby,*' 

Mrs. rang the bell. Betty appeared. ‘‘Is the baby 

awake ?” 

“Yes, my leddy.” 

“Just bring him in to show these ladies.’’ 

Betty darted into the nursery, only too proud of the mission, and 
telling nurse to “ mak’ the young laird brau,” she rushed to the 
kitchen, and demanded of the cook a “ muckle big ashat.” 

“ What do you want with the dish ?” said the English cook. 

“ That’s my ain business,” quoth Betty, taking the enormous 
china platter from the cook’s hand, and running back to the 
nursery. “ Here, Mistress Norman, here is ain big enough to baud 
him in, at ony rate. Pray lay his wee duds smooth, an I’ll tak’ 
him in, for I hear the bell.” 

“ Are ye daft, lass ? Would ye put the bairn on the ashat ?” 

“ Aye, mistress tauld me to bring what she asked me for on an 
ashat. Sure ye wud no’ ha’ me disobey her ?” 

“Na, na,” said the nurse, laughing, and suspecting some odd 
mistake. “ Ye sal’ ha’ it yer ain way.” 

And she carefully laid the noble babe upon the dish, and wei t 
before to open the door that led to Mrs. ’s chamber. 

Betty entered as briskly as her unwieldy burden would permit, 
and with glowing cheeks, and eyes glistening with honest delight, 
presented her human offering in the huge dish to the oldest female 
visitor in the room. 

With a scream of surprise, followed by a perfect hurricane of 


FLOKA LFNDSAY. 


135 


laughter, the venerable dame received the precious gift from Betty’s 
hand, and holding it towards the astonished mother, exclaimed, 
Truly, my dear friend, this is a dish fit to set before a king. Our 
beloved sovereign would have no objection of seeing a dish so filled 
with royal fruit, placed at the head of his own table.” 

The laugh became general ; and poor Betty, comprehending the 
blunder she had committed, not only fled from the scene, but dread- 
ing the jokes of her fellow-servants, fled from the house. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

CLIMBING THE MOUNTAINS. 

The Lyndsays, to their infinite mortification and disappointment, 
found, upon their arrival at Leith, that the Chieftain^ in which ves- 
sel their places had been taken for Canada, had sailed only two 
days before. To make bad worse, Mrs. Waddel confidently affirmed, 
that it was the very last vessel that would sail that season. 

Lyndsay, who never yielded to despondency, took these contrary 
events very philosophically, and lost no time in making inquiries 
among the ship-owners, to ascertain whether Mrs. Waddel was 
right. 

After several days of anxions, and almost hopeless search, he was 
at last informed that the Flora, Captain Ayre, was to leave for 
Canada in a fortnight. The name seemed propitious, and that very 
afternoon he walked down with his wife to inspect the vessel. 

The Flora was a small brig, very old, very dirty, and with 
wretched accommodations. The Captain was a brutal-looking per- 
son, blind of one eye, and very lame. Every third word he uttered 
was an oath ; and, instead of answering Mr. Lyndsay’s inquiries, he 
was engaged in a blasphemous dialogue with his two sons, who 
were his first and second mates. The young men seemed worthy 
of their parentage ; their whole conversation being interlarded with 
frightful imprecations on their own limbs and souls, and the limbs 
and souls of others. 

They had a very large number of steerage passengers engaged, 
for the very small size of the vessel, and these emigrants of the very 
lowest description. 

Don’t let us go in this horrible vessel,” whispered Flora to he» 


136 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


husband. “ What a captain — what a crew — we shall be miserable 
if we form any part of her live cargo !” 

“ I fear, my dear girl, there is no alternative. We may, per- 
haps, hear of another before she sails. I won’t engage places in 
her until the last moment.” 

The dread of going in the Flora took a prophetic hold of the 
mind of her namesake ; and she begged Jim to be on the constant 
look out for another vessel. 

During their stay at Leith, Lyndsay was busily employed in 
writing a concluding chapter to his work on the Cape ; and Flora 
amused herself by taking long walks, accompanied by J ames, the 
maid, and the baby, in order to explore all the beauties of Edin- 
burgh. The ladj who was very clever, and possessed a wonderful 
faculty of remembering places and of finding his way among diffi- 
culties, always acted as guide on these occasions. Before he had 
been a week at Leith, he knew every street in Edinburgh ; had 
twice or thrice climbed the heights of Arthur’s seat, and visited 
every nook in the old castle. There was not a ship in the harbor 
of Leith, but he not only knew her name, and the name of her 
captain, but he had made himself acquainted with some of her 
crew, and could tell her freight and tonnage, her age and capabili- 
ties, the port from which she last sailed, and the port to which she 
was then bound, as well as any sailor on the wharf. It was really 
amazing to listen of an evening to the lad’s adventures, and all the 
mass of information he had acquired during his long rambles 
through the day. 

Flora was always in an agony lest J ames should be lost, or meet 
with some mishap during his exploring expeditions ; but Mistress 
Waddel comforted her with the assurance, “ That a cat, throw her 
which way you wu’d, lighted a’ upon her feet — that naught was 
never tent — an’ they that war’ born to be hanget’ wu’d never be 
drowned.” 

So, one fine afternoon in June, Flora took it into her wdld head, 
that she would climb to the top of the mountain, the sight of which 
from her chamber window she was never tired of contemplating. 
She asked her husband to go with her. She begged — she entreated 
— she coaxed — ^but he was just writing the last pages of his long 
task, and he told her, that if she would only wait until the next 
day, he would go with pleasure. 

But with Madam Flora, it was this day or none. She had set 


FLORA LYNI)S4Y. 


13 ? 


her whole heart and soul upon going up to the top of the mountain 
and to the top of the mountain she determined to go. And this 
resolution was formed in direct opposition to her husband’s wishes, 
and with a perfect knowledge of the tale of the dog Ball, which had 
been one of her father’s stock stories, the catastrophe of which she 
had knowm from a child. Lyndsay did not tell her positively slie 
should not go without him ; and, unable to control her impatience, 
she gave him the slip, and set oft' with Jim, who was only too eager 
for the frolic, on her mountain climbing expedition. 

Now be it known unto our readers, that Flora was the native of 
a rich pastoral country ; very beautiful in running brooks, smooth 
meadows, and majestic parks ; where the fat, sleek cattle, so cele- 
orated in the London markets, graze knee-deep in luxuriant pas- 
tures, and the fallow deer browze and gambol beneath the shadow 
of majestic oaks through the long bright summer days. But Flora 
had never seen a mountain before her visit to the North in her life, 
nad never risen higher in the world than to the top of Shooter’s hill, 
and when she arrived at the foot of this grand upheaval of nature, 
she began to think the task more formidable than she had imagined 
at a distance. Her young conductor, agile as a kid, bounded up 
the steep aclivity with as much ease, as if he were running over a 
bowling green. 

“ Not so fast, Jim !” cried Flora, pausing to draw breath. “ I 
cannot climb like you.” 

Jim was already beyond hearing, and was lying on the ground 
peering over a projecting crag at least two hundred feet above her 
Head, and impishly laughing at the slow progress she made. 

“Now Jim ! that’s cruel of you, to desert me in my hour of 
need,” said Flora, shaking her hand at the young mad-cap. “ Lynd- 
say was right after all. I had better have waited till to-mor- 
row.” 

Meanwhile, the path that wound round the mountain towards 
the summit became narrower and narrower, and the ascent more 
steep and diflBcult, Flora sat down upon a stone amid the ruins of 
the chapel to rest, and to enjoy the magnificent prospect. The con- 
templation of this sublime panorama for a while absorbed every other 
feeling. She was only alive to a keen sense of the beautiful ; and 
while her eye rested on the lofty ranges of mountains to the north 
and south, or upon the broad bosom of the silver Forth, she no 


138 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


lons^er wondered at the enthusiastic admiration expressed by the 
bards or Scotland for their romantic land. 

While a]>«orhed in tlionght, and contrasting tne present with 
the past, a lovely b^y of four years of age, in kilt and hose, his 
golden curls flying in the wind, ran at full speed up the steep side 
of the hill ; a panting woman, without bonnet or shawl, following 
hard upon his track, shaking her fist at him, and vociferating her 
commands (doubtless for him to return) in Gaelic, fled by. 

On ran the laughing child, the mother after him ; but as well 
might a giant pursue a fairy. 

Flora followed the path they had taken, and was beginning to 
enjoy the keen bracing air of the hills, when she happened to cast 
her eyes to the far-ofiP meadows beneath. Her head grew suddenly 
giddy, and she could not divest herself of the idea, that one false 
step would send her to the plains below. Here was a most ridicu- 
lous and unromantic position : she neither dared to advance nor 
retreat ; and she stood grasping a ledge of the rocky wall in an 
agony of cowardice and irresolution. At this critical moment, the 
mother of the run-away child returned panting from the higher 
ledge of the mountain, and, perceiving Flora pale and trembling, 
very kindly stopped and asked what ailed her. 

Flora could not help laughing while she confessed her fears, lest 
she should fall from the narrow foot-path on which she stood. 
The woman, though evidently highly amused at her distress, had 
too much native kindliness of heart — which is the mother of genu- 
ine politeness — to yield to the merriment that hovered about her 
lips. 

“ Ye are na’ accustomed to the hills,’^ she said, in her northern 
dialect, or ye wu’d na’ dread a hillock like this. Ye suld ha’ 
been born whar’ I wa’ born, to ken a mountain fra’ a mole-hill. 
There is my bairn, noo’, I canna’ keep him fra’ the mountain. He 
will gang awa’ to the tap, an’ only laughs at me when I spier to 
him to come do’on. It’s a’ because he is sae weel begotten— an’ all 
his forbears war reared aniang the hills.” 

The good woman sat down upon a piece of the loose rock, and 
commenced a long history of herself, of her husband, and of the 
great clan of Macdonald (to which they belonged), that at last 
ended in the ignoble discovery, that her aristocratic spouse was a 
corporal in the Highland regiment then stationed in Edinburgh, 
and that Flora, his wife, washed for the officers in the said regiment ; 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


139 


that the little Donald, with his wild-goat propensities, was theii 
only child, and so attached to the hills, that she could not keej) him 
confined to the meadows below. The moment her eye was otf him, 
his great delight was to lead her a dance up the mountain, which, 
as she, by her own account, never succeeded in catching him, was 
quite labor in vain. 

All this, and more, the good-natured woman communicated in 
her frank, desultory manner, as she led Flora down the steep, nar- 
row path that led to the meadows below. Her kindness did not 
end here, for she walked some way up the road to put Mrs. Lynd- 
say in the right track to regain her lodgings, for Flora, trusting to 
the pilotage of Jim, was perfectly ignorant of the location. 

This Highland Samaritan indignantly refused the piece of silver 
Flora proffered in return for her services. 

“ Hout, leddy ! keep the siller ! I wudna’ tak^ aught fra’ ye o’ 
the Sabbath-day for a trifling act o’ courtesy — na, na, I come of 
too gude bluid for that !” 

'I’here was a noble simplicity about the honest-hearted woman, 
that was not lost upon Flora. What a fine country ! — what a fine 
people ! No smooth-tongued flatterers, are these Scotch ! With 
them an act of kindness is an act of duty ; and they scorn payment 
for what they give gratuitously, without display and without osten- 
tation. 

“ If I were not English,” thought Flora, I should like to be 
Scotch.” 

She looked rather crest-fallen, as she presented herself before her 
Scotch husband, who, instead of pitying, laughed heartily over her 
misadventure ; and did not cease to tease her about her expedition 
to the mountain, as long as they remained in its vicinity. 

This did not deter her from taking a long stroll on the sands “ o’ 
Leith,” the next afternoon, with James, who delighted in these 
Quixotish rambles ; and was always on the alert to join in any 
scheme that promised an adventure. 

It was a lovely afternoon. The sun glittered on the distant 
waters, that girdled the golden sands with a zone of blue and silver. 
The air was fresh and elastic, and diffused a spirit of life and joy- 
ousness around. Flora, as she followed the footsteps of her young 
agile conductor, felt a child again ; and began to collect shells and 
sea-weeds, with as much zest as she had done along her native coast, 


140 


FLOKA LYNDSAY. 


in those far off, happy days, which at times retuined to her Liemory 
like some distinct, but distant dream. 

For hours they wandered hither and thither, lulled by the sound 
of the waters, and amused by their child-like employment ; until 
Flora remarked, that her footprints filled \> ith water at each step, 
and the full deep roaring of the sea gave notice of the return of the 
tide. Fortunately they were not very far from the land ; and oh, 
what a race they had to gain the “Pier o’ Leith,” before they 
were overtaken by the waves. How thankful they felt that they 
were safe, as the billows chased madly past, over the very ground, 
which, a few minutes before, they had so fearlessly trod ! 

“ This is rather worse than the mountain. Mamma Flora,” (a 
favorite name with James for his friend Mrs. Lyndsay), “ and 
might have been fatal to us both. I think Mr. Lyndsay would 
scold this time, if he knew our danger.” 

“ Thank God ! the baby is safe at home,” said Flora ; “1 
forgot all about the tide. What a mercy we were not drowned !” 

“ Yes ; and no one would have known what had become of us. 
Really, Mamma, you are a very careless woman.” This was said 
laughing. 

“ Hush, Jim ! We won’t quarrel on the score of prudence. But 
what is this?” and she stepped up to a blank wall, on their home- 
ward path, and read aloud the following advertisement : 

“To sail on the first of July, via Quebec and Montreal, the 
fast-sailing brig Anne, Captain Williams. For particulars, inquire 
at the office of P. Gregg, Bank Street, Leith. 

“ N. B. The Anne is the last ship that leaves this port, for Can- 
ada, during the season.” 

“ Hurra!” cried the volatile Jim, flinging his cap into the air ; 
“ a fig for Captain Ayre and the Flora, I’d lay sixpence, if I had 
it, that we shall sail in the A7me.” 

“ Let us go, James, and look at the vessel,” cried Flora, clapping 
her hands with delight. “ Oh, if it had not been for our fright on 
the sands, we should not have seen this. Surely, nothing, however 
trifling, happens to us in vain.” 

Flora hastened home to inform her husband of the important dis- 
covery they had made; and before half-an-hour had elapsed, she 
found herself in company with him and Jim, holding a conference 
with Captain Williams, in the little cabin of the Anne, 


>i.ORA LYNDSAV. 


U1 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BRIG ANNE. 

The brig Anne was a small, old-fashioned, black-hulled vessel, 
n-arvellously resembling a collier in her outward appearance. She 
was a one-masted ship, of one hundred and eighty tons burthen, and 
promised everything but aristocratic accommodations for women 
and children. 

The cabin was a low, square room, meant to contain only the 
captain and his mate ; whose berths, curtained with coarse, red 
stuff, occupied the opposite walls. The table in the centre was a 
fixture, and the bench that ran round three sides of this crib was 
a fixture also ; and though backed by the wall, was quite near 
enough to the table to serve the double purpose of chair or sofa. A 
small fireplace occupied the front of the cabin, at the side of which 
a door opened into a tiny closet, which the captain dignified with 
the name of his state-cabin. The compass was suspended in a brass 
box from the ceiling — other articles of comfort or luxury there v/ere 
none. 

The captain, a stout, broad-shouldered, red-faced man, like Cap- 
tain Ayre, of the Flora, was minus an eye ; but the one that fortune 
had left him was a piercer. He was a rough, blunt-looking tar, 
some forty-five or fifty years of age ; and looked about as senti- 
mental and polite as a tame bear. His coarse, weather-beaten face 
had an honest, frank expression, and he bade his guests to be seated 
with an air of such hearty hospitality, that they felt quite at home 
in his narrow, low den. 

He had no cabin-passengers, though a great many in the steer- 
age ; and he assured Flora that she could have the very best accom- 
modations, as he would resign the state-cabin to her and the child. 
Mr. Lyndsay could occupy the mate’s berth in the cabin, and they 
could not fail of being quite snug and comfortable. 

The state-cabin was just big enough to hold the captain’s chest 
of drawers, the top of which, boarded, and draped with the same 
faded red stuff that decorated the outer room, formed the berth 
that Flora was to occupy. ’ Small as the place was, it was scrupu- 
lously neat and clean, and possessed for Flora one great charm — 
that of privacy. She could, by shutting the door and drawing the 


142 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


bolt, at any time enjoy the luxury of finding herself, though in a 
crowded vessel, alone. 

Mamma Flora, are you not charmed with the splendid accom- 
modations of your fancy ship?” whispered the mischievous Jim. 
‘‘ There is not room for a fiea to hop, without giving him the cramp 
in his legs.” 

“ It is better than the Flora, so hold your tongue, you wicked 
imp.” 

But Lyndsay thought otherwise. The Flora was larger, and was 
to sail a fortnight earlier. He demurred — his wife coaxed and 
in treated; but he only went so far as to tell the captain to keep 
the berths unoccupied until the following day, and he would inform 
him of his final determination. 

Just as they were rising to take leave, a tall, lanky man stuck 
his long, scraggy neck in at the cabin-door, and, in the broadest 
Scotch vernacular, exclaimed — 

“ To what port are ye bound, man ?” 

- Quebec and Montreal.” 

“ Wull you tak’ a cabin-passenger on reasonable terms ?” 

The fare is fixed by the owner of the vessel, P. Gregg, Bank- 
street, Leith. You had better apply to him.” 

“Weel, I dinna’ think I’ll jest go noo’. I want to see the 
Canada lochs. Ane o’ these days I’ll tak’ passage wi’ you, ony- 
how.” 

“ Perhaps a glass of brandy and water would serve your pur- 
pose at this time,” said the captain, with a knowing smile. 

“I’ve noo’ objections, captain,” said the long-visaged traveller 
to the lochs o’ Canada. 

“ That’s one way of getting a glass of brandy for nothing,” said 
the captain, as he accompanied the Lyndsays to the deck. “ That 
fellow has as much notion of going to Canada as I have of taking 
a voyage to the moon. But he knows that I will give him the 
brandy to get rid of him.” 

“ What queer people there are in the world !” said Flora, as she 
took the proffered arm of her husband. “ But what do you think 
of the Anne and her captain, John ? He is a rough sailor, but 
looks like an honest man. And the ship, though small, is clean, 
and offers better accommodations than the Flora, where we should 
have to share a small cabin with fourteen vulgar passengers.” 

“ My dear wife, it may all be true what you say ; but I have 


FLORA LVISDSAY. 


14S 


made up my mind to go in the Flora, She sails so much earlier, 
that it will be a great saving of time and expense.” 

Flora’s countenance fell, and the tears actually came into her 
eyes ; but she only muttered to herself— 

“ Oh, I have such a horror of going in that ship !” 

At the turning of the street, they met Mr. Peterson, the owner of 
the Floroy to whom Lyndsay had spoken about taking a passage 
in her the day before. 

“ Well, Mr. Lyndsay,” he said, shaking hands in a friendly man- 
ner with him ; “ have you concluded to take passage in my vessel ?” 

“Not quite,” returned Lyndsay, laughing. “ My wife has such 
an unconquerable aversion to going with your captain and his sons, 
on account of the reprobate language they used the other day in 
her hearing, that she has actually found up another vessel in which 
she wishes me to sail.” 

“ Oh, the Annej Captain Williams,” said Peterson, with a con- 
temptuous smile, — “the last and most insignificant vessel that 
leaves our port. The owner, P. Gregg, is not a liberal person to 
deal with ; the captain is a good seaman, but a stubborn brute, — 
quite as unfit for the society of ladies as Captain Ayre. To tell 
you the truth, we have little choice in these matters. It is not the 
manners of the men we employ we generally look to, but to their 
nautical skill. There is, however, one great objection to your tak- 
ing passage in the Anne, that I think it right you should know. 
She has a most objectionable freight.” 

“ In what respect ?” 

“ She is loaded with brandy and gunpowder.” 

“By no means a pleasant cargo,” said Lyndsay, “ What do 
you say to that. Flora ?” turning to his wife. 

“ I will tell you to-morrow : do wait until then.” 
n order to pacify her evident uneasiness, Lyndsay promised to 
postpone his decision. 

When they reached their lodgings, they found a short, round- 
faced, rosy, good-natured looking individual, waiting to receive 
them, who introduced himself as Mr. Gregg, the owner of the Anne, 
He had learned from Captain Williams, that they had been inspect- 
ing the capabilities of his vessel. 

“ She was a small ship,” he said, “ but a safe one; the captain, 
a steady, experienced seaman ; and if Mr. Lyndsay engaged a pas- 


144 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


sage for himself and family, he would grant the most liberal 
terms.” 

Lyndsay mentioned his objections to the freight. 

“Who told you that?” asked the little owner, somewhat ex- 
cited.” 

“ Mr. Peterson. We parted from him only a few minutes ago.” 

“ The scoundrel ! the mean, dirty scoundrel !” said Gregg, stamp 
ing on the floor. “ Why, Sir, Mr. Lyndsay, his own ship carries 
the same freight. What did he say about that?” 

“ He told me yesterday, she took out a general cargo ” 

“Of brandy and gunpowder. Both vessels are employed by the 
same house, and take out the same freight. You must, however, 
please yourself, Mr. Lyndsay. The Flora has a great number of 
passengers of the lowest cast — is old and crank I — with the most 
vicious, morose captain that sails from this port. I know him only 
too well. He made two voyages for me ; and the letters I received, 
complaining of his brutal conduct to some of his passengers, I can 
show you at my office.” 

“ You have said enough, Mr. Gregg, to deter me from taking my 
wife and child in the Flora. The deceitful conduct of Mr. Peter- 
son alone would have determined me not to contract with him. 

And now, what will you take us for I Our party consists of my 
wife and infant, a lad of thirteen years who accompanies us, a ser- 
vant girl, and myself.” 

Mr. Gregg considered for some minutes. 

“ Well,” he said, “ there is a large party of you ; but I will give 
your wife, child, and self, a cabin passage, finding you in the same 
fare as the captain, and the lad and servant a second cabin passage, 
with tlie privilege of the cabin table, for thirty pounds. Is that too 
much ?” 

“ It is very liberal indeed. Peterson asked fifty.” 

“ It is reasonable ; but as you have to wait a fortnight longer in 
order to sail with me, I have taken that into account. Is it a bar- 
gain ?” 

They struck hands ; and Mr. Gregg, after drawing up an agree- 
ment, which Lyndsay signed, turned to Mrs. Lyndsay, and press- 
ingly invited the whole party to spend the following afternoon with 
them in a friendly way. 

“ My wife is a homely little body,” he said ; “ but she will do 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


145 


her best to make you comfortable, and will give you, at any ratr, a 
hearty Scotch welcome.” 

Flora was so overjoyed at the prospect of going by the Anne, 
that she shook the little fat man heartily by the hand, and told him 
she would come with the greatest pleasure. 

“ Now, Flora, are you not delighted in having it your own 
way?” asked Lyndsay, after Mr. Gregg left them, taking both her 
hands. “ But let me assure you, my dear wife, you owe it entirely 
to the mean conduct of Mr. Peterson. I tell you frankly, that I 
would not have yielded my better judgment to a mere prejudice, 
even to please you.” 

“You are determined, John, that I shall never fulfil the gipsy's 
prophesy.” 

“ What was that ?” 

“ Did I never tell you that story, nor the girls either ? for it was 
a standing joke against me at home for years. Oh, you must have 
it, then. But be generous, and don’t turn it as a weapon against 
me : 

“ Some years ago, a gipsy woman came to our kitchen-door, and 
asked to see the young ladies of the house. Of course, we all ran 
out to look at the sybil, and hear her errand, which was nothing 
more nor less than to tell our fortunes. Partly out of curiosity, 
partly out of fun, we determined to have a peep into futurity, and 
see what the coming years had in store for us. W e did not believe 
in gipsy craft. We well knew that, like our own, the woman’s 
powers were limited ; that it was all guess-work ; that her cunning 
rested in a shrewd knowledge of character — of certain likings spring- 
ing out of contrasts, which led her to match the tall with the short, 
the fair with the dark, the mild with the impetuous, the sensitive 
and timid with the bold and adventurous. On these seeming con- 
trarieties the whole art of fortune-telling, as far as my experience 
goes, appears based. 

“ Well, she gave husbands to us all — dark, fair, middle-complex- 
ioned, short and tall, amiable, passionate, or reserved — just the 
opposite of our own complexions or temperament’s, such as she 
judged them to be ; and she showed a great deal of taleiit and keen 
perception of character in the choice of our mates. 

“ In my case, however, she proved herself to be no prophet. I 
was to marry a sea-faring gentleman — a tall, black-eyed, passionate 
man — with whom I was to travel to foreign parts, and die in a for 

1 


146 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


eign land. I was to have no children ; and he was to be verj 
jealous of me. ‘ And yet, for all that,’ quoth the gipsy, drawing 
close up to me, and whispering in my ear, but not so low but that 
all the rest heard her concluding speech, ‘ you shall wear the 
breeches.” 

She did not bargain that you were to marry a Scotchman,” 
said Lyndsay, laughing. 

“Nor did she know, with all her pretended art, that my husband 
was to be a soldier, fair-haired, and blue-eyed, and that this little 
lass would give a direct contradiction to her prophesy,” and Flora 
kissed fondly Josey’s soft cheek. “ Well, I was so tormented about 
that last clause in my fortune, that I determined it should never 
come to pass ; that whatever portion of my husband’s dress I cov- 
eted, I would scrupulously avoid even the insertion of a toe into his 
nether garments.” 

“You forget. Flora, your trip to the mountain without my con- 
sent ?” whispered Lyndsay, mischievously. 

Flora colored, stammered, and at last broke into a hearty laugh 
— “ I was too great a coward, John, to wear them with becoming 
dignity. If that was wearing the breeches, I am sure I disgraced 
them with my worse than womanish fears. I will never put them 
on again.” 

“ My dear wife. I’ll take good care you shan’t. When a Scotch- 
man has any breeks to wear, he likes to keep them all to himself.” 

“ Ah ! we well know what a jealous, monopolising set you are. 
Let any one attempt to interfere with your rights, and, like your 
sturdy national emblem, you are armed to the teeth,” said Flora, 
as she ran off to order tea. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

A VISIT TO THE SHIP OWNERS. 

Early in the afternoon of the following day, our family party 
set off to pay their promised visit. The weather was delightful, 
and Flora was in an ecstasy of high spirits, as they turned from 
the narrow streets of Leith into a beautiful lane, bounded on each 
side by hawthorn hedges, redolent with the perfume of the sweet- 
briar and honeysuckle. The breath of new-mown hay floated on 
the air, and the lilac and laburnum, in full blossom, waved their 


FLOE A LYKDSA Y. 


147 


graceful boughs above tiie white palings that surrounded many a 
pleasant country retreat, iu which the tired citizen, after the toils 
of the day in the busy marts of commerce, returaed to enjoy a com- 
fortable dish of tea with his family. 

The verse of an old, old song, now quite out of date, that Flora 
had been taught to repeat when a child, came flush to her memory. 
It was a perfect illustration of the rural scene : 

“ It was within a mile of Edinburgh to^vn, 

And a ])leasant time o’ the year, 

Sweet lilacs bloomed, and the hay was down. 

And each shepherd wooed his dear.” 

VMiy do old songs ever go out of fashion ? What poetry charms 
us so much as these simple lyrics, which spring spontaneously from 
the heart ? They are loved and remembered when the most sublime 
efforts of human genius are forgotten, and are always associated 
with the best and truest feelings of our nature. Those lines of the 
old song carried Flora back to the days of her childhood — the days 
when, wild with delight, she had revelled among the new-mown 
liay in the fair fields that spread around the dear old homestead 
she was to see no more ; — to the days when the lilac and laburnum 
were Nature’s own jewels, more prized by her tliau the gems in a 
monarch’s crown, and life one continued dream of fruits and flowers, 
a paradise of joy, from which she never wished to rove ; — to the 
days when she left shreds of her white frocks on every brier bush, 
while sporting with the elves in the green wood, — when she cried 
at her mother’s knee for a sackcloth gown that could not be torn 
by the rude bushes. This rending of fine garments was one of the 
only sorrows of Flora’s young life. It had made her a democrat 
from her ci’adle. 

A walk of half-a-mile brought them to the suburban retreat of 
the worthy Mr. Gregg, and he was at the green garden-gate to 
receive his guests, his honest, sonsie face, radiaiit with an honest 
welcome. 

I was fearful ye wud not keep your promise,” he said : my 
youngsters ha’ been on the look-out for you this hour.” 

Here he pushed the giggling youngstei's forwaid, iu the shape of 
two bouncing, rosy-faced school-girls, who were playing at bo-peep 
behind papa’s broad blue back, and whose red checlis grew crim- 
son with blushes as he presented them to his guests. 

James Hawke seemed to think the merry girls, who were of his 


148 


FLORA L VXDS AY. 


own age, well worth looking at, if you might judge by the rogukh 
sp.arkling of his line black eyes, as he bounded olf with th(m to be 
introduced to the strawberry-be<ls, and all the other attractions of 
the worthy citizen’s garden. 

It was a large, old-fashioned house, that had seen better days, 
and stood on a steep, sloping hill, that commanded a beautiful 
view of Edinburgh, the grand old mountain looming in the dis- 
tance, and the bright Forth, with all its wealth of white sails, 
glittering in the rays of the declining sun. 

“ What a delightful situation !” exclaimed Flora, as her eye 
ranged over the beautiful scene. 

“Aye, ’tis a bonnie place,” said Mr. Gregg, greatly exalted in 
his own eyes, as master of the premises ; — “ an’ very healthy for 
the bairns. I often walked past this old house when I was but a 
prentice lad in the High street, o’ Sunday afternoons, and used to 
peep through the pales, and admire the old trees, an’ fruits, an’ 
flowers ; an’ I thought if I had sic a braw place of my ain, I 
should think mysel richer than a crowned king. I was a puir 
callant in those days. It was only a dream, a fairy dream ; yet 
here I am, master of the auld house and the pretty gardens. 
Industry and prudence— industry and prudence, madam, my dear, 
has done it all, and converted my air-built castle into substantial 
brick and stane.” 

Flora admired the old man’s honest pride. She had thought him 
coarse and vulgar, while in reality he was only what the Canadians 
term homely ; for his heart was brimful of kindly affections and 
good feeling. There was not a particle of pretence about him — 
of forced growth or refined cultivation : a genuine product of the 
soil, a respectable man in every sense of the word. Proud of his 
country and his king, and doubly proud of the wealth he had ac- 
quired by honest industry. A little vain, and pompous, perhaps, 
but most self-made men are so ; they are apt to overrate the talents 
that have lifted them out of obscurity, and to fancy that the world 
estimates their worth and importance by the same standard as they 
do themselves. 

In the house, they were introduced to Mrs. Gregg, who was just 
such a person as her husband bad described ; a cheerful, middle- 
aged woman, very short, very stout, and very hospitable. Early 
as it was, the tea-table was loaded with good cheer ; and Flora, for 
the first time in her life, saw preserves brouglit lor tea ; largo 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


149 


strawberries preserved whole, and that pet sweetmeat of the Scotch, 
orange marmalade, which looked tempting enough, in handsome 
dishes of cut glass, flanked by delicious homemade bread and but- 
ter, cream, cheese, and sweet curds. 

“ A tall, fine-looking woman, very gaily dressed, and not half so 
genteel in appearance as the mistress of the house, was presented to 
the Lyndsays as Mrs. M’Nish, a married daughter. Her husband 
was a loud-voiced, large-whiskered consequential-looking young 
man, whose good humor and admiration of himself, his wife, and his 
father and mother-in-law, and the big housfe, appeared inexhaustible. 

His young wife seemed to look npon him as something superhu- 
man ; and to every remark she made, she appealed to Wullie, as 
she called him, for his verdict of approval. 

Little Josey, who made one of the party, was soon on the most 
intimate terms with tfie family group. The young married woman, 
after bestowing upon her many kisses, passed her over to her hus- 
band, telling him, with a little laugh, “ that she wondered if he 
would make a good nurse: it was time for him to commence prac- 
tising.” Then she blushed, and giggled, and the old man chuckled 
and rubbed his knees, and the mother looked up with a quiet smile 
as the jolly bridegroom burst into a loud laugh. “Ay, Jean, my 
woman, it’s time enough to think of troubles when they come.’^ 
And then he tossed Miss Josey up to the ceiling witli such vig- 
orous jerks, that Flora watched his gymnastics in nervous fear lest 
the child should fall out of his huge grasp and break her neck. 

Not so Josey; she never was better pleased in her life; she 
crowed and screamed with delight, and rewarded her Scoteh nurse, 
by tangling her tiny, white fingers in his bushy red whiskers, and 
pulling his long nose. 

“ Haut you’re a spereted lass. Is that the way you mean to 
lead the men?” he said, as he bounced her down into hLs wife’s lap, 
and told her “ that it was her turn to mak’ a trial o’ that kind o’ 
wark an’ see how it wud fit ; he was verra’ sure he sud sune 1)6 
tired o’t.” And this speech was received with another little giggle, 
followed by a loud laugh. But Josey was by no means tired of her 
game of romps ; and she crowed and held out her arms to the 
M'N ish, to induce him to take her again ; and when he turned a 
deaf ear to the infant’s petition, she fairly began to cry.” 

“ Wully, Wully, dinna let the bairn greet in that kind o’ fashun,” 


150 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


cried the wife ; ‘‘ye might be proud o’ having such a wee arngel to 
nurse.” 

“ Aye. so I shall be, ane o* these days/’ said the huge man, taking 
the babe from her arms ; and Miss Josey got another dance, which 
was so vigorously kept up that she fairly dropped off to sleep, which 
circumstance was doubtless a joyful one to all parties. 

The old gentleman was impatient to discuss the important busi- 
ness of tea-drinking ; after which he proposed to have the pleasure 
of showing his visitors the garden, and some other grand sight of 
which he would not speak now, but which he was certain must be 
appreciated by every pei'son who possessed a half penny worth of 
• taste.” 

Flora sat down to the table, wondering what it could be. 

Big Wullie stepped to the hall door, and summoned the children 
to the evening meal with a loud hallo ; which was answered from 
among the trees by a jovial shout, and in a few minutes the young 
folks poured into the room, some of them looking rather dull, from 
their protracted visit to the strawberry-beds.” 

The fresh air and exercise had made Mrs. Lyndsay unusually 
hungry. She ate heartily and enjoyed her meal, but this did not 
satisfy the overBowing hospitality of her entertainers, who pressed 
and worried her in every possible manner to take more, till she felt 
very much inclined to answer with the poor country girl, “ Dear 
knows, I con’t eat another bit or with the Irish settler’s wife, in 
the backwoods of Canada, who, on being urged to take more, 
pushed away her plate, exclaiming, impatiently, No, thank you, 
I’m satisfied !” 

But there was no way of satisfying the entreaties of the Greggs, 
but by making a retreat from the table, and even then they per- 
sisted in declaring their guests had been starved, and would not do 
the least justice to their good cheer. 

This mistaken kindness brought to Flora’s mind a story she had 
beard Lyndsay tell, of a merchant of Edinburgh who went to the 
north of Scotland to visit some country folk who were bis near 
relations. The good people were outrageously glad to see him, 
and literally killed the fatted calf, and concocted all sorts of 
country dainties in order to celebrate the advent of their distin 
guished guest, who, it seems in this case, was in less danger of 
starving than of being stuffed to death. 

Having partaken at dinner of all, and perhaps of mtlier more 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


15j 


Ilian he required, he did his best to resist their further importuni- 
ties for him to eat more, but finding his refusing to do so increased 
their anxiety to force upon him the good things they had to be- 
Btow, he spread a large silk handkerchief upon his knees, under 
cover of the table-cloth, into which he contrived dexterously to 
empty the contents of his plate, whenever the eye of his watchful 
hostess was off him. At last, even her importunities for him to 
continue the feast grew fainter, and she wound up by exclaiming, 
“ You ha’ made a verra puir dinner, Sir ; ye ha’ just eaten nae- 
thing ava’.” 

At this speech, he, hardly able to keep his gravity, placed his 
handkerc^hief upon the table, and displayed its contents of fish, 
flesh, fowl, and confectionaries, to his astonished entertainers, 
exclaiming, as he did so, “ My dear Madam, think what would 
have become of me, had I eaten all this!” 

It was no feast of reason, at the honest Greggs ; the entertain- 
ment was of the most animal kind, and Flora felt relieved when it 
was over, and the whole party issued once more into the pure balmy 
air. 

She was just hastening to a parterre, gay with roses, to rifle 
some of its sweets, when the old gentleman came panting hard upon 
her track. “ Ye must come an’ see my raree show, before the sun 
gangs doun,” he cried ; and Flora turned and followed him back 
into the house. In the hall the whole family party were collected. 

“ I’ll gang first, father, and open the door,” cried a merry boy of 
fourteen; and beckoning to Jim, they both clattered after each 
other up the old-fashioned stairs. 

Old houses in Edinburgh and its vicinity are so high, one would 
think the people in those days wished to build among the stars ; 
at least to emulate the far-famed wonders of that language-con- 
founding tower, that caused the first emigration, by scattering the 
people over the face of the earth. 

They went up, and up, and up ; there seemed no end to the 
broad, short steps. On the last flight, which led to the roof, the 
staircase had so greatly contracted its proportions, that fat Mr. 
Gregg could scarcely force himself up it, and he so completely 
obscured the light that peered down upon them from a small trap- 
door which opened upon the leads, that Flora, who followed him, 
found herself in a dim twilight, expecting every moment the pant* 


152 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ing mountain that had come between her and the sky, would lose 
the centre of gravity, and siiflfocate her in its fall. 

No such tragic misfortune occurred. The old gentleman forced 
himself, after much squeezing and puffing off steam, through the 
narrow aperture, and very gallantly lent a hand to assist Flora on 
to the leads, though the perspiration was streaming down his face, 
now almost purple with the exertions he had used. 

This is a strait gate, on a narrow way,” he cried. But tell 
me, if it does na’ gie ye a glimpse o’ heaven ?” 

The old man was right. Flora stood perfectly entranced with 
the glorious spectacle that burst upon her sight, the moment she 
stepped upon the roof of that old house. Edinburgh, and the world 
of beauty that lies around it, lay at her feet, bathed in the golden 
light of a gorgeous June sunset. To those who have beheld that 
astonishing panorama, all description must prove abortive. It is a 
sight to be daguerreotyped upon the heart. It is impossible for 
words to give a picture of the scene. The cheeks pale, the 
eyes moisten, slowly and solemnly the soul mounts upwards 
towards the Creator of this wondrous vision of power and beauty, 
till humbled and abashed by a sense of its own utter insignificance 
in a presence so august and incomprehensible, it sinks back to 
earth in silent self-annihilation, to wonder and adore. 

“ Weel, was it not worth toiling up yon weary stairs, to get sic 
a glimpse as that, of the brave auld town ?” said honest P. 
Gregg, wiping his bald head with his handkerchief. “ I’m jest 
thinkin’ I must enlarge the stair, or diminish myself, before I can 
venture through that narrow pass again. An’, my dear leddy, I can 
do neither the one nor the other. So this mayhap may be my l?.st 
glint o’ the bonnie auld place.” 

Then he went on, after this quaint fashion, to point out to Mis- 
tress Lyndsay all the celebrated spots in the neighborhood, which 
every Scot knows by heart ; and Flora was so much amused and 
interested by his narrations, that she was sorry when the deepening 
shades of approaching night warned the old man that it required 
daylight to enable him to descend the narrow stair, and they 
reluctantly left the scene. 


FLORA LYNDiAY. 


153 


CHAPFER XXY. 
flora’s dinner. 

Tjyndsay had some literary friends in Edinburgh, whose kindly 
intercourse greatly enhanced the pleasure of a month’s residence 
near the metropolis of Scotland. The foremost among these was 

M , the poet, who, like Lyndsay, was a native of the Orkney 

Islands. Having been entertained at the house of this gentleman, 
he naturally wished to return his courtesy. 

“ Flora,” he said*, addressing his wtfe, the day after their visit to 
the Greggs, “ do you think you could manage a dinner for a few 
friends ?” ^ 

Flora dropped her work, and opened her eyes in blank dismay 
at the very idea of such a thing. 

“ What, in these poor lodgings ? and Mrs. Waddel such an 
impracticable, helpless old body? My dear John, it is impos- 
sible!” 

Now, Lyndsay had set his heart upon the dinner, which he 
thought not only very possible, but oould see no difficulty about it. 
Men never look behind the scenes, or consider the minor details of 
such things ; and on these trifling items, in their eyes, the real suc- 
cess or failure of most domestic arrangements depend. But Flora 
had been behind the scenes, and knew all about it, to her cost, for 
it was with the greatest difficulty she could prevail upon Mrs. 
W addel to cook his plain steak or pudding fit to send to table. 
She had been forced, unknown to him, to superintend the cooking 
of his daily meals, and make sauces or gravies, which Mrs. W. 
declared she could “ nai fash hersel about ; that sic dainties were 
a’ verra weel, but the meat ate jist as sweet without them.” The 
idea of such a tardy mistress of the kitchen cooking a dinner for 
company, appeared perfectly ridiculous to Flora, who knew that 
any attempt of the kind must end in mortification and disap* 
pointment. 

“ Flora,” said Lyndsay, quite seriously, “ I am certain that 
you could manage it quite well, if you would only make the 
trial.” 

“ It is fi’om no unwillingness on my part that I object to your 
entertaining your friends ; I should like to do so on my own 

t* 


m 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


account, as well as yours, for they have been very kind to me, but 
I doubt tne means of being able to do so. If it will satisfy you, 
I will cook the dinner myself, though I must confess I am but a 
poor hand at it. But this is not the chief difficulty. There is 
but one cooking-range in the house, and that one small and incon- 
venient, and I fear their cooking utensils are limited to the 
dimensions of their fire, as Mrs. Waddel always put off cooking our 
dinner until she had despatched her own.” 

“ There is a large fire-place in our bed-chamber, Flora,”' said 
Lyndsay, unwilling to beat a retreat : ‘‘ you could boil a couple of 
pots there.” 

“ True,” replied Flora, musingly ; “ I did not think of that. It 
would do that damp, cold room good to get a fire lighted in it.” 

Seeing her husband determined upon the dinner, she began to 
question him as to the items of the entertainment. 

“ Oh, nothing particular dear. M knows that we are in 

lodgings, and can’t manage as well as if we were in a house of our 
own. A nice cut of fresh salmon, which is always to be had in the 
fish-market, a small roast of beef, or leg of mutton, with vegetables 
and a pudding, will do ; and, above all things. Flora, don’t make 
a fuss. If everything does not do exactly to please you, don’t look 
vexed and annoyed, or it will only make matters worse. I am going 

to call upon M this morning, and I will ask him and his friend 

P to step over and dine with us at six o’clock.” 

“ What shall we do for wine and spirits?” 

“ I will order these as I go along. So mind, dear, and have every- 
thing as snug and comfortable as you can.” 

Lyndsay was hardly gone before Flora put on her bonnet, and 
calling to Hannah to follow with the basket, set off for the fish- 
market. 

In spite of the anxiety she felt as to the success of the dinner, 
Flora could not help pausing to admire the spacious fish-market, 
with its cool stone pavement, and slabs of white marble, on which 
lay piled, in magnificent profusion, the most beautiful specimens of 
the finny rangers of the deep. It was a hall of wonders to her, filled 
with marine curiosities, and she could have spent hours in contem- 
plating the picturesque groups it presented. 

There lay the salmon in its delicate coat of blue and silver ; the 
mullet, in pink and gold ; the mackerel, with its blending of all 
hues — gorgeous as the tail of the peacock, and defying the art of 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


155 


the painter to transfer them to his canvas : the plaice, with its 
olive green coat, spotted with vivid orange, which must flash like 
sparks of flame glittering in the depths of the dark waters ; the 
cod, the siller baddies, all freckled with brown, and silver and gold ; 
the snake-like eel, stretching its slimy length along the cool pavement, 
among moving heaps of tawny crabs — those spiders of the deep, 
that seemed to emulate the scorpion lobsters near them in repulsive 
ugliness. 

But what most enchanted Flora, was the antique costume of the 
New Haven fish women, as seated upon their upturned baskets, 
they called the attention of the visitor to their various stores of fish. 

Flora was never tired of looking at these sea maids and matrons. 
Their primitive appearance, and quaint, old-fashioned dress, took 
her fancy amazingly — with their petticoats so short, their blue 
stockings and buckled shoes, their neat, striped linen jackets, and 
queer little caps, just covering the top of their head, and coming 
down in long, straight mobs over their ears — their honest broad 
features, and pleasant faces, that had been fair before the sun 
and the sea air tanned them to that warm, deep brown — their 
round, red arms and handsome feet and legs, displayed with a free- 
dom and ease which custom had robbed of all indecency and ren- 
dered natural and proper. 

Flora wished that she had been an artist, to copy some of the fine 
forms she saw among these fish girls — forms that had been left as 
the great God of nature made them, uncrippled by torturing stays 
and tight vestments. 

How easy their carriage ! with what rude grace they poised upon 
their heads their ponderous baskets, and walked erect and firm, fill- 
ing the air with their mournfully-musical cry ! The great resem- 
blance between these people and the Bavarian broom-girls, both in 
features and costume, impressed her with the idea that they had 
originally belonged to the same race. 

The New Haven sea-nymph, however, is taller, and has a more 
imposing presence, than the short, snub-nosed Bavarian. 

But time, that waits on no one’s fancy or caprice, warned her 
that she must not linger over a scene which she afterwards visited 
with renewed pleasure, but gave her a gentle hint that there was 
work to be done at home — that she had better make her purchases 
and proceed to business. 

Having bought a fine cut of fresh salmon, she bade adieu to the 


156 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


market, and proceeded to the poulterers, where she made choice of 
a fat pair of fowls, which, with a small ham, she thought would just 
make a nice, quiet family dinner. She returned to her lodgings in high 
spirits, despatching Jim to the green-grocer's, in the next street, to 
buy some peas and young potatoes, and then followed Hannah and 
her basket into Mrs. Waddel’s kitchen. 

“ Marcy me! what ha' ye got, the noo?" said Mistress Waddel 
lifting the napkin from the basket ; “ meat enough, I declare, to 
last the hale week. The weather's ow'r hot, I'm thinkin’, for a’ 
they to keep sweet sae lang.” 

“ Mrs. Waddel, I expect two gentlemen to dinner-- -particular 
friends of Mr. Lyndsay — and I want you to cook these things for 
me as well as you can," said Flora, coaxingly. 

“ Twa' gentlemen, did ye say ? There’s ten times mair in yon 
basket than twa' gentlemen can eat I" 

“ Of course there is ; but we cannot stint our guests. You see, 
dear Mrs. Waddel, I want you to boil the salmon, (I'll make the 
shrimp-sauce myself), and to roast these two nice fowls — they are 
all ready for the spit — and to cook the ham, and a few peas and 
potatoes." 

“ Whist, woman !" cried Mrs. Waddel, interrupting Flora’s elo- 
quent speech, it makes my heid ache only to think about a' that 
roast, an' boil, an' boil, an' roast ! And wha' sail we find the 
kittles an' the coals for a’ that?" 

“Of course you must have pots for such purposes?" said 
Flora, and her spirits began to sink rapidly. 

“ Aye, sic as they be. But I ha' but twa’ o’ them ; and the 
tea-kittle serves a turn noo' an' then. Ye ken my muckle big pot — 
that ane that I use a washin' days — tak's up a' the fire to its ain- 
sel — and the ne’est wunna hand a muckle ham, without cutting it 
in twa — an' ye wunna like that 1" 

“Oh, certainly not ! — But are these your whole stock ?’’ 

“ A' but twa old sauspans, a spider, an' a wee bit panikin, for 
melting butter. Ane o' the sauspans has no handle, and the 
other has a muckle hole in the bottom o'nt." 

“ And pray, how did you contrive to cook for Lady Weyms, with 
such utensils?" asked Flora, rather indignantly. 

“ Gudeness gracious I Do ye think that my Leddy Weyms 
cared for the cooking o' the like o' me ? When his late majestic, 
Grod bless him, honored our auld toon wi’ his presence, folk were 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


157 


glad to get a decent place to cover their lieids, an’ war’ in no wise 
ow’r particular, sae they could get lodged awa.” 

“ So I should think — when a titled lady put up with such as 
these — where the mistress engages to cook for her lodgers, and has 
not a whole pot in her culinary establishment.” 

“ My Leddy brought her ain cook, an’ she had my twa best 
rooms, jest aff the passage, whar’ Captain Macpherson bides the 
no’o.” 

And how do you manage to cook for him ?” asked Flora, very 
sullenly. 

“He keeps a man. An auld soger, whar’ does the cooking 
himsel.” 

“ Do you think you could borrow a pot of him, big enough to 
hold the ham ?” 

“ He’s awa’, in the countrie, sure, an’ will not be home this 
week, an’ his door is locked. He’s afeard of trusting an’ honest 
bodie wi’ his duds.” 

Flora sighed from the very bottom of her heart ; as she glanced 
at the array of crazy vessels that Betty Fraser, the better to con- 
vince her of the truth of her mistress’s statements, had ranged in 
rank and file on the floor at her feet. As Flora examined the 
capabilities of these old pots, which, perhaps, had belonged to the 
widow’s grandfather, and were so antique in their form and appear- 
ance, that they might have been considered very interesting relics 
of a by-gone age by the members of the Antiquarian Society, she 
began to despair of ever cooking a dinner in them. She almost 
doubted the fact that they had ever been used for that purpose. 

The widow’s meals were of the most simple kind, consisting of 
porridge in the morning — some preparation of salt or fresh fish for 
dinner, with potatoes — and if she did occasionally indulge in the 
luxury of hvtchei' meat, as she termed it, the purchase was so small, 
that it was either broiled on the gridiron, or suspended before the 
fire by a string, with a broken plate placed below to catch the 
gravy. By this tedious process, she had contrived to prepare 
steaks or a small joint for her lodgers, and the result had been that 
the meat was either raw or cooked to rags. 

After a great deal of consultation, Mrs. Lyndsay pitched upon 
the washing boiler, as the only vessel in which she could contrive 
.0 boil the ham; but then another difficulty occurred — the vessel 
was so large ti.at it monopolized the whole width of the small grate, 


158 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


to the exclusion of the fish and vegetables. She thought of the 
fireplace in her chamber — which the ham might occupy in solitary 
state, leaving the kitchen range free for the other dishes. This 
plan she suggested to Mrs. Waddel. 

“ If I light a fire there, said the good woman, “ ye maun buy 
the coal yoursel.” 

“ If that is the only difficulty,” said Flora, laughing, “ we can 
soon surmount it. Does the chimney smoke ?” 

“ I dinna^ ken. I ha’ lived in this flat for nigh twenty years, 
an’ I never put fire to a coal there in a’ that time.” 

“ At any rate, we can but try,” said Flora. “ If you will let 
Betty buy the coals, the sooner we make the experiment the 
better.” 

Coals and wood were soon procured ; the old chimney-board 
removed, and the cobwebs and dust, which had accumulated in the 
rusty grate, swept out — the materials for the fire duly laid, and 
Betty Fraser, in lieu of a pair of bellows, went down upon her 
knees, blowing with all her strength, in order to raise a flame, and 
set the fire going. It was a long time before the fire thought fit to 
kindle ; but when it did, such a gush of black smoke rushed from 
the old chimney, that it not only darkened the gloomy chamber, 
producing a temporary night, but literally filled the house. Flora 
sprang to the window, and threw it open to get a breath of air — 
she felt suffocated — while Betty commenced coughing and sneezing 
as if she never meant to give over. But this was not the worst of 
the matter. The swallows, who had held undisturbed possession 
of the chimney for half a century, in making their exit from the 
smoke, caused such a sudden rushing and clapping of wings, that 
it brought down about a bushel of soot, that not only extin- 
guished the fire, but covered the floor around the fireplace an inch 
deep with black dust. This fresh disaster made Flora and Betty 
retreat from the room, as fast as the swallows did from the chim- 
ney. On emerging into daylight once more, the faces of both 
mistress and maid were as black as if they had practised the chim- 
ney sweeping craft for half their lives. 

Flora scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry. I verily believe 
she did both the one and the other ; while Betty, opening her 
great black eyes to their largest dimensions, and raising her hands 
in a tragic manner above her head, exclaimed, in a piteous tone of 
voice, Did you ever” 


FLOEA LYNDSAY 


159 


See anything so provoking?” said Flora, finishing the sentence. 

Betty, what are we to do ?” 

Weel, Ma’am, if ye’d jest tak the advice o’ a puir bodie like 
me, I’d say, ye had better send the fowl to the bakehouse, an’ I’ll 
get a neebor woman to boil the ham for ye, for a trifle o’ siller.” 

Flora could have kissed the good-natured lass, as she saw at 
length a way through the troubles that beset her. 

I will give you a couple of shillings, Betty, for yourself, if you 
will manage this for me. In the meanwhile, do you think it possi- 
ble for us to cook the other things at the kitchen-fire?” 

“ I’ll do my best for ye,” cried the delighted Betty. We may 
inak’ out wi’ the fish and the vegetables ; but I misdoubt the pud- 
den’. Cu’d ye not get a pie or a tart frae the pastry-cook’s at the 
end o’ the street? Mistress Waddel is unco lazy; she’ll no fash 
hersel’ about the pudden’.” 

ITiis, after all, was the only feasible plan that could be acted 
upon ; and Flora sent Hannah to clear away the soot and rubbish 
from her bed-room, while she and Betty prepared the dinner. 

The ham was sent out to be boiled, the chickens to be baked ; 
the tarts were ordered for six o’clock ; and everything was in a 
fair train but the fish and the vegetables. But the indefiitigable 
Betty procured the loan of a small pot and a fish-kettle from the 
owners of the flat below ; and, when Lyndsay returned to luncheon 
at one o’clock. Flora met him in good spirits, and made him laugh 
heartily over her mishaps. 

The dinner went off better than could have been expected, though 
little praise could be conscientiously given to the cooking. The 
fish was done too much, the ham too little, and the baked fowls look- 
ed hard and dry. The pastry was the only thing at table about 
which no fault could be found. 

After the cloth was removed. Flora gave the poet and his friend 
the history of the dinner, which so amused Mr. M., that he declared 
it was worth twenty dinners hearing her relate the misadventures 
of the morning. Flora forgot the disasters of the day while enjoy- 
ing the conversation of Mr. M. and his friend — men who had won 
by their genius no common literary reputation in the world ; and 
the short hour “ ayont the twal ” had been tolled some time from 
all the steeples in Edinburgh before the little party separated, 
mutually pleased with each other, never to meet in this world of 
change again. 


160 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

FEARS OF THE CHOLERA — DEPARTURE FROM SCOTLAND 

The cholera, which had hitherto only claimed a few victims in 
the city, now began to make fearful progress ; and every day 
enlarged the catalogue of the dead, and those who were laboring 
under this awful disease. 

The people seemed unwilling to name the ravages of the plague 
to each other ; or spoke of it in low, mysterious tones, as a subject 
too dreadful for ordinary conversation. 

Just at this time Flora fell sick, and was forced to keep her 
bed for several days. At first, she feared that her illness was the 
terrible pestilence ; but, though very nearly resembling it in most 
of its symptoms, she was fortunate enough to surmount it. 

During the time she was confined to her chamber, Mrs. Waddel 
Kept up a constant lamentation, declaring that the reputation of 
her lodgings would be lost for ever, if Mrs. Lyndsay should die 
of the cholera ; yet, to do the good creature justice, she waited 
upon her, and nursed her with the most unselfish kindness — 
making gallons of gruel, which the invalid scarcely tasted, and 
recommending remedies which, if adopted, would have been cer- 
tain to kill the patient, for whose life she most earnestly and 
devoutly prayed. 

The very morning that Mrs. Lyndsay was able to leave her bed, 
her husband got a note from Mr. Gregg, informing him that the 
Anne was to sail at four o’clock the next day. 

“ My dear Flora,” said Lyndsay, tenderly, “ I fear you are not 
able to go in your present weak state.” 

“ Oh yes, I shall be better for the change. This frightful chol- 
era is spreading on all sides. The sooner, dear J ohn, we can leave 
this place the better. Two persons, Mrs. Waddel toJd me, died 
last night of it, only a few doors off. I know that it is foolish and 
unphilosophical, to be afraid of an evil which we cannot avoid ; but 
I find it impossible to divest myself of this fear. I look worse than 
I feel just now,” she continued, walking across the room, and sur- 
veying her face in the glass. “ My color is returning, I shall pass 
muster with the doctors yet.” 

The great business of packing up for the voyage went steadily 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


161 


forward all day ; and before six in the eyening, truuks, bedding, 
. and little ship stores, were on board, ready for a start. 

Flora was surprised in the afternoon by a visit from Mr. and 
Mrs. Grregg, and the two rosy girls, who expressed the greatest 
regret at their departure. They had made a plum-cake for Mrs. 
Lyndsay to eat during the voyage ; and truly it looked big enough 
, to have lasted out a trip to the Soncfeh Seas, while Mrs. Gregg had 
brought various small tin canisters filled with all sorts of farina- 
ceous food for the baby. 

Abundant as their kindness was, the blessings and good wishes 
they heaped upon the emigrants were more abundant still — the 
kind-hearted mother and her bonnie girls kissing them at parting, 
with tears coursing down their rosy cheeks. Mr. Gregg, who was 
terribly afraid of the cholera, tried to raise his own spirits, by de- 
scribing all the fatal symptoms of the disease, and gave them a faith- 
ful catalogue of those who had died of it that morning in the city. 
He had great faith in a new remedy, which was just then making 
a noise in the town, which had been tried the day before, on a rela- 
tion of his own — the injection of salt intOr the veins of the suf- 
ferer. 

“ Did it cure him ?” asked Flora, rather eagerly. 

“ Why nO; I canna jest say it did. But it enabled him to mak’ 
his will an’ settle a’ his worldly affairs, which was a great point 
gained — 

“ For the living,” sighed Flora. “ Small satisfaction to the 
dying, to be disturbed in their last agonies, by attending to matters 
of business, while a greater reckoning is left unpaid.” 

“ You look ill yoursel. Mistress Lyndsay,” continued the good 
man. Let’s hope that it’s not the commencement of the awfu’ 
disease.” 

“ I thought so myself two days ago,” said Flora. “ I am grate- 
ful to God that it was not the cholera, though an attack very 
nearly akin to it. Does it ever break out on board ship ?” 

• “ It is an affliction sae lately sent upon the nations by the Lord, 
that we ha’ had sma’ experience o’ the matter,” quoth Mr. Gregg. 

Your best chance is to trust in Him. For let us be ever so 
cautious, an’ He wills it, we canna’ escape out o’ His hand.” 

“ Perhaps its the best way to confide ourselves entirely to His 
care, and to think as little about it as we possibly can. All our 
precautions remind me of the boy who hid in the cellar during 


162 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


a terrible thunderstorm, in the hope that tlie lightning would never 
find him there, little dreaming that his place of safety exposed him 
to as much danger as a stand on the house-top. A man may run 
away from a battle, and escape from a fire, but it seems to me of 
little use attempting to fly from a pestilence which lurks in tho 
very air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food we take to 
nourish us. Faith in the mercy of God, and submission to His 
will, appear to me the only remedies at all likely to avert the 
danger we shrink from with so much fear.” 

“ It comes like a thief in the night,” said Mr. Gregg ; “ and it 
behooves us to all mind the warning o’ the Saviour, to watch an’ 
pray, for we know not at what hour the Master of the house 
cometh.” 

After the good Greggs had made their adieus. Flora felt so much 
recovered that she accompanied her husband in a coach, to bid the 
rest of their kind friends in Edinburgh farewell. 

They drove first to the house of Mr. W., where Flora had spent 
many happy days during her sojourn in Leith. Mr. W. had an 
only son, who held an official situation at the Cape of Good Hope. 
Lyndsay had been on intimate terms with this gentleman during 
his residence in the colony ; and on his return to Scotland, he was 
always a welcome visitor at the house of his parents. They loved 
to talk of Willie to Lyndsay, and treasured up as household words 
any little anecdotes they could collect of his colonial life. Mrs. W. 
and her two daughters were highly accomplished, elegant women. 
They took a deep interest in the fate of the emigrants, and were 
always devising plans for their future comfort. 

As to the father of the family, he was a perfect original — shrewd, 
sarcastic, elever, and very ugly. The world called him morose 
and ill-natured ; but the world only judged from his face, and most 
certainly he should have indicted it for bringing false witness 
against him. It was a libellous face, that turned the worst aspect 
to the world ; its harsh lines and exaggerated features magnifying 
mental defects, while they concealed the good qualities of the warm, 
generous heart, that shone like] some precious gem within that 
hard, rough case. 

Mr. W. loved opposition, and courted it. He roused himself up 
to an argument, as a terrier dog rouses himself to kill rats ; and, 
like the said terrier, when he got the advantage of his opponent, he 
loved to worry and to tease, t^ hold on till the last, till the van- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


lf>3 

quisbed was fain to cry aloud for mercy ; and then his main object 
in quilting the dispute was to lie in wait for a fresh tuzzle. Flora 
laughed at all his blunt speeches, and enjoyed his rude wit, and 
opposed him, and argued with him to his heart’s content, until they 
became the best friends in the world. Their first meeting was so 
characteristic, that we must give it here. 

She had accepted an invitation to dine, with her husband, at Mr. 
W.’s house. It was only a family party, and they were to come 

early. On their arrival, they found that Mr. W had been called 

away on business, but was expected back to dinner. After chat- 
ting a while to Mrs. W and her daughters. Flora’s attention 

was strongly directed to an oil painting which hung above the 
drawing-room mantel-piece. It was the portrait of an old man, as 
large as life. The figure was represented in a sitting posture, his 
head leaning upon his hand, or rather the chin supported in the 
open palm. The eyes glanced upward with a sarcastic, humorous 
expression, as if the original were in the act of asking some ques- 
tion which a listener might find no easy matter to answer ; and a 
smile of mischievous triumph hovered about the mouth. It was 
an extraordinary countenance. No common every-day face, to 
which you could point and say, Does not that put you in mind of 
Mr. So-and-So ?” Memory could supply no duplicate to this pic- 
ture. It was like but one other face in the world — the one from 
which it had been faithfully copied. It was originally meant for a 
handsome face, but the features were exaggerated until they became 
grotesque and coarse in the extreme, and the thick, bushy, iron- 
grey hair and whiskers, and clay-colored complexion, put the finish- 
ing strokes to a portrait which might be considered the very ideal 
of ugliness. 

While Flora sat looking at the picture, and secretly wondering 
how any person with such a face could bear to see it transferred to 
canvass, she was suddenly roused from her reverie by the pressure 
of a heavy hand upon her shoulder, and a gentleman in a very gruff, 
but by no means an ill-natured or morose voice, thus addressed 
her : 

“ Did you ever see such a d d ugly old fellow in your life 

before ?” 

“Never,” returned Flora, very innocently. Then, looking up 
in his face, she cried out with a sudden start, and without the least 
mental reservation, “ It is the picture of yourself 1” 


164 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Yes, it i& my picture. An excellent likeness — half bulhdog, 
half terrier. Judging from that ugly^ crabbed old dog over tha 
mantelpiece what sort of a fellow ought I to be?” 

He said this with a malicious twinkle in his clear, grey eyes, that 
glanced like sparks of fire from under his thick, bushy eyebrows. 

“ Better than you look,” said Flora, laughing. “ But your ques- 
tion is not a fair one, Mr. W ; I was taken by surprise, and 

you must not press me too hard.” 

“ A clear admission, young lady, that you would rather avoid 
telling the truth.” 

‘‘ It is the portrait of a plain man.” 

“Pshaw! You did not qualify it as such in your own mind. 
Plain is only one degree worse than good-looking. You thought 
it ” 

“ Ugly — if you insist upon it.” 

“Nothing worse?” 

“ Eccentric — pugnacious — satirical.” 

“ God’s truth. But that was not all.” 

“ Good heavens I but what am I to say?” 

“ Don’t swear ; ’tis not fashionable for ladies. I do it myself \ 
but ’tis a bad habit. Now shall I tell you what you did think of 
the picture ?” 

“ I would rather have your opinion than mine ?” 

“To relieve you from the horns of the dilemma? 'Well, then ; 
you thought it the ugliest, most repulsive, and withal the oddest 
phiz you ever saw ; and you wondered how any one with such a 
hideous, morose countenance, could ever sit for the picture ?” 

“ Indeed I did.” 

“ Good !” cried her tormentor, clapping his hands. “ You and 
I must be friends. You wonder how I came to guess your thoughts ; 
I know them by my own. Had any one asked my opinion of the 
picture of another man, as ugly as that, I should have spoken out 
plainly enough. I have often wondered that the Almighty con- 
descended to animate such an ill-looking lump of olay with a por- 
tion of His Divine Spirit. Fortunately the qualities of the mind 
do not depend upon the beauty of the face — though personal beauty 
is greatly increased by the noble qualities of the mind ; and I know 
my inner man to be as vastly superior to its outer case, as the moon 
is to the cloud she pierces with her rays. To mind, I am indebted 


l^LORA LY.NDSAY. 


1G5 


for tlie greatest iiappincss 1 enjoy — the confidence and affection of 
my wife and children. 

“ Mrs. W was reckoned pretty in her youth ; I think her 

so still. She was of a good family, too ; with a comfortable inde- 
pendence, and had lovers by the score. Yet she fell in love with 
the ugly fellow and married him, though he had neither fame nor 
fortune to offer her in exchange. Nothing but the mental treasures 
he had hid fway from the world in this rough casket. My daugh- 
ters are elegant, accomplished girls ; not beauties, to be sure, but 
pleasing enough to be courted and sought after. Yet they are proud 
of being thought like their ugly old father. That picture must be 
a likeness ; it is portrayed by the hand of love. My dear girl there 
drew it with her own pencil, and rejoiced that she had caught the 
very expression of ray face. To her, my dear lady, it is beautiful, 
for love is blind. She does not heed the ugly features ; she only 
sees the mind she honors and obeys, looking through them.” 

“ Ah, dear papa, who that knows you, as we know you, could 

ever think you ugly?” said Mary W , laying her hand on the 

old man’s shoulder, and looking fondly and proudly in his face. 
‘‘ But I have forgotten all this time to introduce you to Mrs. Lynd- 
say.” 

“ My old friend Lyndsay’s wife ? I ought not to be pleased with 
you, madam, for you disappointed a favorite scheme of mine.” 

“ How could that possibly be?” said Flora. 

I loved that man of yours ; I wanted him for a son-in-law. Of 
course, neither I nor the girls hinted such a wish to him. But had 
he asked, he would not have been refused.” 

“ Mrs. Lyndsay,” broke in Mary W , “ you must not mind 

papa’s nonsense. He will say just what he likes. Mr. Lyndsay 
was always a great favorite with us all ; and papa would have his 
joke at our expense.” 

‘‘ Well, my young friend has thought fit to please himself, and 1 
am so well pleased with his wife, that she shall sit by the ugly a.d‘ 
man ; ‘ an I will ha’ a spate o’ clatter wi’ her to mine ain sex.’ ” 

The more Flora saw of the eccentric old man, the more she 
admired and respected him. In a little time, she ceased to think 
him ugly — he was only plain and odd looking ; till at length, like 
all the rest of Mr. W ’s friends, she almost believed him hand- 


some. 


166 


FLORA LYiVDSAY. 


When did genius ever fail to leave upon the rudest clay an im- 
press of divine origin. 

It was with feelings of mutual regret, that our emigrants took 
leave, and for ever, of this talented family. Before the expiration 
of one short year, that happy group of kind faces had passed out 

of the world. The sudden death of the younger Mr. W , who 

was the idol of the family, brought his mother in sorrow to the 
grave. The girls, by some strange fatality, only survived her a 
few weeks ; and the good old man, bereft of every kindred tie, pined 
away and died of a broken heart. 

Some years after Flora had been settled in Canada, a gentle- 
man from Scotland, who had been acquainted with the W 

family, told her that he called upon the old gentleman on a 
matter of business, a few days after the funeral of his youngest 
daughter. The old man opened the door: he was shrunk to a 
skeleton, and a perfect image of woe. When he saw who his 
visitor was, he shook his thin, wasted hand at him, with a mel- 
ancholy, impatient gesture, exclaiming, “ What brings you here, 

P ? Leave this death-doomed house ! I am too miserable to 

attend to anything but my own burden of incurable grief.” 

He called again the following morning. The poor old man was 
dead. 

The next day the emigrants bade farewell to the beautiful capital 
of Scotland. How gladly would Flora have terminated her earthly 
pilgrimage in that land of poetry and romance, and spent the rest 
of her days among its truthful, high-minded, hospitable people ! 
But vain are regrets. The inexorable spirit of progress points 
onward ; and the beings she chooses to be the parents of a new 
people, in a new land, must fulfil their august destiny. 

On the 1st of July, 1832, the Lyndsays embarked on board the 
brig Anne, to seek a new horns beyond the Atlantic, and friends 
in a land of strangers. 


FLOR. LYNDSAY. 


i61 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A NEW SCENE AND STRANGE FACES. 

Four o’cIock, p. m., had been tolled from all the steeples in 
Edinburgh, when Flora stood upon the pier “ o' Leith,” watch- 
ing the approach of the small boat that was to convey her on 
board the ugly, black vessel, that lay at anchor at the Berwick 
Law. It was a warm, close, hazy afternoon ; distant thunder 
muttered among the hills, and dense clouds floated around the 
mountain from base to summit, shrouding its rugged outline in a 
mysterious robe of mist. Ever and anon, as the electrical breeze 
sprang up and stirred these grey masses of vapor, they rolled up in 
black, shadowy folds, that took all sorts of Ossianic and phantom- 
like forms — spirits of bards and warriors, looking from their grey 
clouds upon the land their songs had immortalized, or their valor 
saved. 

Parties of emigrants and their friends were gathered together 
in small picturesque groups on the pier. The cheeks of the 
women were pale and wet with tears. The words of blessing 
and farewell, spoken to those near and dear to them, were often 
interrupted by low, pitiful wails, and heart-breaking sobs. 

Flora stood apart waiting for her husband, who had been to the 
ship, and was in the returning boat that was now making its way 
through the water to take her off. Sad she was, and pale and 
anxious ; for the wide world was all before her, a world of new 
scenes and strange faces — a future as inscrutable and mysterious 
as that from which humanity instinctively shrinks, which leads so 
many to cling with expiring energy to evils with which they have 
grown familiar, rather than launch alone into that unknown sea 
which never bears upon its bosom a returning sail. Ah, well is it 
for the poor, trembling denizens of earth that — 

“ Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate,’^ 

or how could they bear up from day to day against the accumu- 
lated ills that beset them at every turn along the (jrooked paths of 
life? 

Flora had already experienced that bitterness of grief, far worse 
than death, that separates the emigrant from the home of his love, 


168 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


the friends of his early youth, the land of his birth , ana she shed 
no tear over the mournful recollection, though the deep sigh that 
shook her heart to its inmost depths, told that it was still felt and 
painfully present to her memory. 

She stood alone among that weeping crowd ; no kindred hand 
was there to press hers for the last time, or bid God speed her on 
her perilous voyage. Oh, what a blessing it would have been at 
that moment, to have bent a parting glance on some dear, familiar 
face, and gathered strength and consolation from eyes full of affec- 
tion and sympathy ! 

The beautiful landscape that had so often cheered and gladdened 
her heart, during her brief sojourn in that glorious land, no longer 
smiled upon her, but was obscured in storm and gloom. Thethuii' 
der, which had only muttered at a distance, now roared among the 
cloud-capped hills, and heavy drops of rain began to patter slowly 
upon the earth and sea. These bright globules, in advance of the 
heavy shower whose approach they announced, made small dimples 
in the waters, spreading anon into large circles, until the surface 
of the salt brine seemed to boil and dance, which a few minutes 
before had lain so glassy and still beneath the hot breath of the 
coming storm. Flora thought how soon those billows, shaking off 
their brief slumber, would chafe and roar for ever between her and 
her native land. 

Then the lines of Nature^s own bard, the unhappy but immortal 
Burns, whose fame had become as eternal as those ancient hills, 
rose to her mind, and she could fancy him standing upon that very 
spot, breathing out from the depths of his great, inspired heart, the 
painful separation he anticipated, when called by adverse circum- 
stances to leave old Scotia’s shores and the woman he adored : 

“ The boat rocks at the pier o’ Lieth, 

The ship rides at the Berwick I^w, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.” 

The words still hovered on her lips when the boat touched the 
pier, and her husband threw his arms around her and lifted her 
and the dear offspring of their mutual love, into the small bark that 
was to bear them away from the glorious land of Bruce and Burns. 
The men bent to their oars, and in a few minutes, she found her- 
self one among the manj strangers that crowded the narrow deck 
of the emigrant ship. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


169 


The down-pouring of the thunder-shower compelled her to take 
instant refuge in the cabin, followed by Hannah and the child. 

The little dingy place dignified by that name, was crowded with 
trunks and packages, piled upon each other in endless confusion ; 
and the close atmosphere was rendered more hot and suffocating 
from the mingled odors of brandy, onions, red herrings, and tobac- 
co ; the smoke from several pipes floated in lazy wreaths through 
tlie confined space, and effectually concealed, for the first few min- 
utes, the parties indulging in the dreamy luxury of the fragrant 
weed. 

The gloom occasioned by the passing thunder-clouds produced a 
dim twilight in tlTe little room, which looked more like the den 
in a travelling menagerie, appropriated to the use of some im- 
prisoned lord of the desert, than a fitting habitation for civilized 
men and women. 

Flora groped her way to the bench that surrounded the walls, and 
for a few minutes covered her face with her hands, to conceal her 
agitation and keep down the swelling of her heart, before she gained 
sufficient courage to reconnoitre the aspect of her temporary home. 
At length, she succeeded in calming her feelings, and was able to 
look about her. 

The Captain was sitting upon a large trunk in his shirt-sleeves, 
with a short pipe stuck between his teeth, holding in one hand a 
tumbler of brandy punch, and in the other a bundle of papers con- 
taining a list of his passengers, which he was in the act of proffer- 
ing for the inspection of the excise officers, who were settling with 
him sundry matters of business, connected with the cargo of the 
ship. 

Two sinister, ill-looking men they were, who spoke with loud, 
authoritative voices, and for the time being, appeared masters of 
the vessel and all that it contained, examining with provoking 
exactness clapboards, bedding, boxes, and bins of biscuit, till there 
seemed no end to their prying and vexatious system of cross-ques- 
tioning. 

The Captain notified his consciousness of the presence of the new- 
comers with a short nod of recognition ; but he was too much occu- 
pied to welcome them with words. He seemed in a desperate ill- 
humor with his official visitors, and replied to all their queries with 
a significant elevation of his broad shoulders, and a brief “ No” or 
“ Yes,” which greatly resembled a grwvl. 

8 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


liO 


During his af)sence on deck, whither he acccmpanied the senior 
officer, his companion^ who was seated on the bench opposite to 
that occupied by Mrs. Lyndsay and her maid, with his back to an 
open bin, full of biscuits and other sea-stores, took the opportunity 
afforded by the Captain’s departure, in filling the huge pockets in 
his large jacket with the said stores, until his tall, lank person, was 
swelled out into very portly dimensions. He then made a sudden 
dash at the brandy-bottle, which the Captain had left on the table, 
and, casting a thievish glance at Mrs. Lyndsay, who was highly 
amused by watching his movements, he refilled his glass, and tossed 
it off with the air of a child who is afraid of being detected, while 
on a foraging expedition into Mamma’s cupboard. This matter set- 
tled, he wiped his mouth with the cuff of his jacket, and assumed a 
look of vulgar consequence and superiority, which must have forced 
a smile to Flora’s lips, had she been at all in a humor for mirth. 

“ Strange,” she thought, as she sat muffled up in her cloak, a 
silent spectatress of his manoeuvres, “that such a mean, dishonest 
wretch as this, should be empowered to act the petty tyrant, and 
pass judgment on the integrity of others, who is so destitute of the 
principles of common honesty himself!” 

She certainly forgot, during her mental colloquy, the wisdom 
concealed beneath the homely adage, “ Set a thief to catch a 
thief!” and the profound knowledge of the world hidden in the 
orief, pithy sentence. 

The provoking business of inspection (for so it seemed to the 
Captain — to judge by his flushed cheek and frowning brow), was at 
length over, and the officers withdrew, and were succeeded by the 
doctor, who was appointed to inspect the health of the crew and 
passengers, before the ship sailed. 

Doctor Mac Adie was a lively, little, red-haired man, with high 
cheek-bones, and a large, Koman nose, out of all proportion to the 
size of his diminutive body, but perfectly harmonizing with his wide, 
sensible-looking mouth. His sliarp, clear, blue eyes, seemed to have 
crept as close to his nose as they possibly could, in the vain hope 
of glancing over the high, ridgy barrier it formed between them, 
which gave to their owner a peculiarly acute, f enetrating expres- 
sion — a glance which appeared to look you through and through ; 
yet, though extremely grotesque, it was a benevolent, pleasing face, 
full of blunt kindness and ready wit. 

The Doctor’s snuff-box seemed part and parcel of himself ; for 


FLORA LYiVDSAY. 


ni 


the quaint, old-fashioned horn repository, that contained the pungent 
powder, re il Scotch, never left his hand during his professional dia- 
logue with Mrs. Lyndsay. 

He shook his head, as his keen eyes read sickness of mind and 
body in her weary and care-worn face. “Ye are ill, my gude 
leddy,” he said, in broad Scotch ; “ in nae condition to undertak’ 
sic a lang voyage.” 

Mrs. Lyndsay answered frankly and truly, that she had been in- 
disposed during the past week, and her recovery was so recent, that 
she felt much better in health than her looks warranted. 

The Doctor examined her tongue, felt her pulse, and still shook 
his head doubtingly. “ Feverish — rapid pulse — bad tongue — jest 
out o’ yer bed, from attack near akin to cholera. I tell ye that ye 
are mair fit to go to bed again, under the doch tor’s care, than to 
attempt crossing the Atlantic in a close crib like this.” 

“ The fresh sea air will soon restore me to health,” said Flora. 
“ You know. Doctor, that we cannot command circumstances, and 
have things exactly as we could wish and she checked the sigh 
that rose to her lips, as she recalled to mind her dear, comfortable 

cottage at , and glanced round the narrow cabin and its 

miserable accommodations. 

The Doctor regarded her with eyes full of compassion. He cer- 
tainly guessed her thoughts, and seemed as well acquainted with 
complaints of the mind as with bodily ailments. 

“ Weel, weel, I ha’e ray ain doubts as to your fitness for sic a 
voyage in your weak state ; but I’ll e’en jest let ye pass. Are ye 
married or single?” 

“ Married.” 

“ An’ the gude man ? ” 

“Is on the deck with the captain. He will be here presently.” 

“ Ha’e ye ony bairns ?” 

Flora pointed, with a feeling of maternal pride, to the little 
Josey, who was sleeping upon Hannah’s knees, a lovely picture 
of healthy, happy infancy. 

“ Aye, she’s bonnie,” cried the kind Doctor, taking one of the 
tiny alabaster fingers of the babe in his red, rough hand. “ Sma’ 
need o’ a dochter in her case. An’ wha’s this woman ?” touching 
Hannah’s shoulder with his forefinger. 

“ My nurse-girl.” 

“ A married woman ?” 


n2 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ No, Sir.’^ 

She shu’cl be, I’m jest thinkiii’; it will uo be lang before she’s 
a mither,” muttered the little man. Then, turning quickly to Flora, 
he said, “ I wull speak to the medical man on board, an’ tell him to 
tak’ partic’lar care o’ ye during the voyage. What’s his name?” 

“ There is no such person. The vessel is too small to incur such 
an expensive addition to the comfort of her passengers. ’I’lie cap- 
tain said he was his own doctor.” 

“ How many passengers does he tak’ out ?” 

“ Seventy-two in the steerage, five in the cabin, besides his crew : 
eight in number.” 

“ Eighty-five human beings, an’ no medical man on board ! ’Tis 
jest a disgrace to the owners, and shu’d be reported. In case o’ 
cholera, or ony other epedemic brakin’ out amang ye, wha’ wu’d 
become o’ ye a’ ?” 

“We must trust in God. The great Physician of souls will not 
be forgetful of our bodily infirmities.” 

“ True, true, young leddy ; cling close to Him. Ye ha’ muckle 
need o’ His care. An’ dinna trust your life to the dochtering o’ a 
sullen ignoramus like the captain, — an obstinate, self-willed brute, 
that, right or wrang, will ha’ his ain way. Dinna tak’ ony medi- 
cine frae him.” 

Flora was amused at the idea of calling in a one-eyed Esculapius 
like the jolly captain. The absurdity of the thing made her laugh 
heartily. 

“ It’s nae laughing matter,” said the little doctor, whose profes- 
sional dignity was evidently wounded by her mistimed mirth. 

“ Hout ! dinna’ I ken the ma’n for the last ten years or mair. 
Thae medicine kist he prizes mair than his sole remaining e’e, an’ 
fancies himsel a dochtor fitting a king. Ye canna’ please him 
mair than by gie’n’ him a job. The last voyage he made in this 
verra brig, he administered, in his ignorance, a hale pint o’ castor 
oil in ain dose to a lad on board, which took the puir fallow aff his 
legs completely. Anither specimen o’ his medical skill was gie’n 
ane o’ his crew a heapen spun fu’ o’ colomel, which he mistook for 
magnesia. I varilie believe that he canna’ spell weel eneugh to 
read the directions in the buik. An’ is it to sic a dunderheid that 
the lives of eighty-fivii human beings are to be entrusted ?” 

Flora was highly antertained by this account of the captain’s 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


m 


skill ; while the doctor, who loved to hear himself talk, continued 
in a more impressive and confidential tone — 

“ Now, dinna’ be sae ill advised as to be takin’ pheesic a’ the 
time, young leddy. If ye wu’d keep yersel in health, persuade the 
captain to gie ye the charge o’ yon kist o’ poisons, an’ tak’ the first 
opportunity to drap the key by accident overboard. By sae doin’ 
ye may be the savin’ o’ your ain life, an’ the lives of a’ the humani- 
ties on boord the brig Anne.” 

Flora was fond of a little amateur doctoring. To part with the 
medicine chest, she considered, would be a great sin, and she was 
already secretly longing to overhaul its contents. 

A few well-established remedies, promptly administered in simple 
cases of illness, and followed by the recovery of the patients, had 
made her imagine herself quite a genius in the healing art ; and she 
rejected the homely little doctor’s last piece of advice as an eccen- 
tric whim, arising either from ignorance of his profession, or from 
disappointment in not having been appointed surgeon to the brig. 

Doctor MacAdie was neither deficient in skill nor talent. He 
was a poor man, of poor parentage, who had worked hard to obtain 
his present position, and provide a comfortable home for his father 
and mother in their old age. His practice was entirely confined to 
the humble walks of life, and he was glad to obtain a few additional 
meals for a large family by inspecting the health of emigrants pre- 
paratory to their voyage. 

In this case, his certificate of health was very satisfactory ; and 
he told the Captain that he had seldom seen a heartier, healthier 
“set o’ decent bodies in sic a sma’ vessel,” and he pathetically 
entreated him not to tamper with their constitutions, by giving 
th^m dangerous drugs whose chemical properties he did not under- 
stand, declaring emphatically, “ that nature was the best pJiesi- 
dan after all.” The Captain considered this gratuitous piece 
of advice as an insult, for he very gruffly bade Doctor MacAdie 
“ Go to h — and take care of his own patients ; he wanted none of 
his impertinent interference.” 

The little doctor drew up his shoulders with an air of profound 
contempt ; then taking a monstrous pinch of snuff, in the most 
sneezable manner from his old-fashioned box, he shook Mrs. Lynd- 
say kindly by the hand, and wishing her and her gude man a pros- 
perous voyage, vanished up the companion-ladder. 

Old Boreas shook his fist after his retreating figure. “You d — d^ 


174 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


insignificant, snuffy little coxcomb ! I’m a d d sight better doctor 

than you are. If the government sends you again, poking your 
long nose among my people. I’ll make a surgical case for you to 
examine at home at your leisure, I will.’* 

In order to divert his ill-humor, Flora inquired at what hour the 
ship sailed. 

“ She must wait for that which never yet waited for mortal 
man — wind and tide. It will be midnight before we get under- 
weigh.” 

Boreas always spoke in short sentences. He was a man of few 
words, rough, ready, and eccentrically blunt. Had his talents been 
proportioned to his obstinacy of will, he might have ruled over large 
communities, instead of acting the petty tyrant on the deck of his 
small craft. Right or wrong, he never gave up his opinion to any 
one. He certainly did not belong to the Sir — very trucy 

Sir ” school of individuals, who would resign their own souls to 
agree with their superiors in rank or power. If there was a being 
on earth that he despised more than another, it was a sneak. On 
one occasion, when a steerage passenger, in order to curry favor, 
was prostrating himself before him after this fashion, assuring the 
Captain that his thoughts coincided xactly with his own,” he 
burst out in a towering passion : “ I) — you, sir ! haven’t you got 
an opinion of your own ? I don’t want such a sneaking puppy as 
you to think my thoughts and echo my words. I should despise 
myself, if I thought it possible that we could agree on any sub- 
ject.” 

If really convinced that he was wrong, he would show it by a 
slight diminution of his ferocious stubborness ; but would never ac- 
knowledge it in words. If he gained even a doubtful advantage over 
an adversary, he rubbed his hands, clapped his knees, and chuckled 
and growled out his satisfaction, in a manner peculiarly his own. 
He was only tolerable as a companion after taking his third glass 
of brandy and water ; and as he commenced these humanizing doses 
by daybreak in the morning, repeating them at stated intervals dur- 
ing the four-and-twenty hours, by noon he became sociable and 
entertaining ; and would descend from his anti-meridian dignity, and 
condescend to laugh and chat in a dry, humorous style, which, if it 
lacked refinement, was highly amusing. 

Though an inveterate imbiber of alcohol, he was never posi 
lively drunk during the whole voyage. The evil spirits seemed ta 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ns 

make no impression upon tne iron fibres of bis stubborn brain and 
heart. He judged his morality by the toughness of his constitution, 
and congratulated himself on being a sober man, while he com- 
plained of his second mate, and stigmatised him as a drunken, 
worthless fellow, because one glass of punch made him intoxicated. 
This is by no means an uncommon thing both at home and abroad ; 
and men condemn others more for want of strength of head, than 
strength of heart. 


CHAPTEE XXYIII. 

THE STATE CABIN. 

Why it was called so, Flora could not imagine, as she retreated 
to the little domicile which was to be entirely appropriated to her 
own use. It was a very small closet, about seven feet in length, 
and a very little broader than it was long. It contained neither 
stool, bench, nor chair, and there was just room enough after closing 
the door, to turn round and undress. The top of a large chest of 
painted deal drawers, with a raised board in front, and screened by 
faded red stuff curtains, formed the bed ; for which Lyndsay had 
purchased a hair-matress and feather pillows, to render it more 
comfortable during the voyage for his wife and child. But it was 
perched up at such an unreachable height from the ground, that the 
bed was on a level with Mrs. Lyndsay’s chin. After Hannah had 
arranged the clean bedding, the question naturally suggested itself, 
“ How in the world shall I ever get in?” and as Flora was one of 
those persons who never left difficulties to be encountered at the* 
last moment, she thought it would be better to make the experi- 
ment by daylight. After many ineffectual attempts, in which she 
so far succeeded that she bruised her chin, and knocked the skin ofl‘ 
one of her knees, she gave the task up in despair. 

“ What am I to do, Hannah ?” she said, appealing to her atten'* 
dant, in a tone half laughing, half crying. “It would require the 
long legs of Cams Wilson, the London giant, to reach so high. 
Go into the cabin and fetch hither a chair.” 

“ Why, la. Harm, there arn’t such a thing as a chair in the whole 
ship. There’s nothing to set on but them hard benches, which are 
enough to distract all the bones in your body. They worn’t never 
made for females, them beaches — only for rude sailor fellers, whose 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ne 

Bkin is as Iwd and tough as rhinocerums. Why it tires one more 
to sit down than to stand up. My back hakes ever since we corned 
into this vessel.” 

But the child and I can never sleep here as matters are at pre- 
sent. If it is such a difficult thing to get to bed when the ship is 
at anchor, what will it be when she is plunging about in a storm ?” 

“You had better hax the cap ting, Marmi He must know the 
proper way of climbing up, for it was his own berth.” 

“ It will seem so absurd^ He may, however, have a step-ladder 
to reach it. Go to him, and ask him, with my compliments, how 
he gets into bed.” 

Hannah returned laughing*, and with flushed cheeks. 

“ La, Marm, he says “ that he gets in like other folks ; that 
where there’s a will, there’s alers a way.” An’ he burst out into 
such a loud roaring laugh that it made me feel quite ashamed. 
Arter he had had his fun and wiped his eye — he has but one, you 
knows, Marm — he cries out — “Hout, lass! let her jest make a 
flight of steps, by pulling out the drawers one above another for a 
little way ; they answer the purpose of stairs, and if she’s in down- 
right earnest to go to bed, she’ll soon learn how to get in ; but mind 
she don’t knock her head against the ceiling, or fall out and break 
her neck, or there’ll be the devil to pay with her husband, and no 
pitch hot. And tell her, lass, that the drawers are empty, and at 
her service to stow away all her little traps ; and there’s a cubby 
hole jest at the head of the bed, full of books, which she can read 
when she has a mind.” 

Flora was highly delighted with the result of Hannah’s message. 
She immediately attempted the method proposed by the rough 
sailor, and after a trial or two, became quite expert in rolling in 
and out of the berth ; though, in spite of the warning he had given, 
she rapped her head several times against the low ceiling, which 
was only a few feet above her pillow. 

She then proceeded to fill the large, deep drawers with clothes 
for herself and J osey during the voyage, and had got everything 
comfortably arranged before night closed in, and she received a sum- 
mons from the steward that “ tea was ready.” 

“ That’s good news,” said Hannah ; “ I feel quite raversome with 
hunger, and if I don’t lay in a good stock to-night I shall feel baa 
enough to-morre w with the ’orrid sickness. The moment the ship 
begins to heave^ I shall be heaving too.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


177 


“ Say nothing about it, Hannah — enjo^ yourself wliile you can. 
(live me the little pocket-glass out of my trunk. My hair is all 
scattered about my face.” 

“Yes, Marm, you’d better tidy up a bit, for there’s company in 
the cabin — not ’zactly ladies, but kind of ladies, such as Misses 
Waddel would call decent folk. One of them was sitting upon the 
Cap ting’s knee when I went in, and drinking punch with him out 
of the same glass.” 

“ Yery decent ladies, truly,” said Flora, doubtful whether to make 
one of such a refined party. Just as she had determined to remain 
where she was for the night, Lyndsay tapped at the door, and she 
called him in to hold a consultation. 

“ Come away,” said he, laughing ; “ it is only the captain’s 
wife, and the mate’s, with two of their sisters. Nice, good-tem- 
pered, natural women, who will behave themselves with due deco- 
rum. Old Boreas will be quite hurt if you refuse to come out of 
your den, and play the amiable to his woman folk.” 

Flora no longer hesitated ; she took her husband’s arm, and 
emerged from her hiding-place into the cabin, which now presented 
a very different appearance to what it had done some hours before. 
All the confusion of trunks and packages that had filled up the 
small available space had been removed, and it looked as neat and 
comfortable as such a confined crib could possibly look under the 
most favorable circumstances. 

The company, consisting of four smartly-dressed young women, 
were ranged along the bench opposite the door from which Flora 
made her debut. They regarded her with a nervous, awkward agi- 
tation, as they rose simultaneously and dropped as low a courtesy 
as the narrow space between the bench and the table would allow. 
Flora returned the salutation with a distant bow, and caught a 
reproving glance from her husband. The ceremony of introduction 
then commenced, by the captain rising to his legs, and stretching 
out his red, right hand with an air of dignity, “ Mrs. Lyndsay, 
cabin passenger in the brig Anne — Mrs. Williams, my wife, ma’am 
— Mrs. Collins, Mrs. Lyndsay, — my wife’s sister-in-law, — Miss 
Nancy and Betsey Collins, Mrs. Lyndsay, — Mr. Collins, my first 
mate, and brother to Mrs. Williams, Mrs. Lyndsay.” 

Then came the shaking of hands, which we fear Mistress Lynd- 
say performed with a very bad grace, for she had not as yet been 
seasoned by a long residence in a semi-democratic country, where 

8 * 


m 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


people get over their prejudices regarding superiority of bloo4 
and breeding, and must not only shake hands with, but associate 
wdth persons on an equal footing, whom, in the old country, they 
would consider vastly inferior. Lyndsay, who pitied the embar- 
rassment of the family party assembled in the Cabin, received them 
with a frank courtesy; which soon restored confidence, and set 
them at their ease, though it was difficult to refrain from a smile 
at the scared look they cast at each other when Mrs. Lyndsay took 
her seat among them ; and the dead silence which fell upon them, 
and checked the lively chattering that a few minutes before had 
rung through the cabin. 

Tea and coffee were smoking upon the table, which was covered 
with all sorts of dainties, that the captain’s wife had brought in 
a basket to make merry with, and which she proffered to the 
strangers with true Scotch hospitality, assuring Ihem that the rich 
bun and short bread had been made with her ain hands, as a little 
treat for J ock before leaving the country. 

“Meg forgets that I’m a rough English sailor, and don’t care a 
fig for her Scotch sunkets,” quoth Boreas, speaking with his mouth 
full of short bread. “ A good red herring and a slice of Gloster 
cheese is worth them all. But wilful women will have their own 
way, and I must eat the mawkish trash to please her.” 

“ An’ find it varra gude, Jock, an’ I’m no mistaken,” said the 
buxom fair-haired w^oman, tapping his rough cheek. “ It wad be 
something new for him to praise ony thing made by his own wife.” 

And then she rattled away about the inconstancy of men, and 
of sailors especially, in such a droll, provoking manner, that she 
forced her rude lord to lay aside his dignity and laugh at her non 
sense. She was a comely, sonsy dame, neither very young, nor 
very pretty ; but he was her senior by many years, and he bore her 
raillery with the same grace that a staid old cat submits to the 
impertinent caresses and cuff? of a frolicsome kitten. When 
he growled and swore, she clapped her hands and laughed, and 
called him her dear old sea-bear, and hoped that he would not die 
of grief during her absence. 

“ Never fear, Meg, I don’t mean to give you the chance of tor- 
menting another fellow out of his wits. I shall live long enough to 
plague you yet.” 

“ Na’ doubt,” said Meg, “which thought will console me foi 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


119 


your absence ; an’ I sail be as merry as a lark until you return to 
execute your threat.” 

‘‘ Meg, you are a daft woman,” said Collins, the mate, “ The 
captain does na’ half like your teasing. Can’t you leave him 
alone ?” 

“ Mind your ain business, Wullie, an’ take care of your ain wife. 
I canna’ play the fule like Jean, wha’s whimperin’ by herself in the 
corner.” 

This was indeed the case. Mrs. Collins had only been married 
a few weeks, and the parting with her bridegroom was a heart- 
breaking affair. They were a very interesting young couple ; and 
the tall, fair girl sat apart from the rest of the group, nursing an 
agony of fear in her gentle breast, lest her Willie should be 
drowned, and she should never see him again. She made despe 
rate efforts to control her grief, and conceal her tears that rolled in 
quick succession down her pale cheeks. Collins sprang to her 
side, and circling her slender waist wnth his manly arm, whispered 
into her ears loving words, full of hope and comfort. It would 
not do ; the poor girl could not be reconciled to the separation, 
and answered all his tender endearments with low, stifled sobs, 
filling the heart of the lover-husband with the grief that bur- 
thened her own. 

Collins had a fine, sensible face, though it had been consider- 
ably marked by the small-pox. His features were straight and 
well cut ; his hair dark and curling ; his handsome grey eyes full 
of manly fire. Though not exactly a gentleman, he possessed high 
and honorable feelings, and his frank manners and independent 
bearing won for him the good will and respect of all. 

Doubtless Jean thought him the handsomest man in a’ Scotland, 
and most women would have said that he was a good-looking, dash- 
ing sailor. As he bent over his disconsolate, weeping bride, with 
such affectionate earnest love beaming from his fine eyes, and tried 
with gentle words to reconcile her to their inevitable parting, he 
afforded a striking contrast to his superior, who regarded a tempo- 
rary absence from his spouse as a thing of course — a mere matter of 
business, which he bore with his usual affectation of stubborn in- 
difference. 

Feeling that her presence must be a restraint upon the family 
party, the moment the evening meal was concluded Flora bade them 
good-night and retired to her state cabin ; and, worn out with tho 


180 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


fatigue of the day, sli-e undressed and went to bed. The rain was 
still falling heavily, and she was forced to leave her door partly un« 
closed to obtain a little air, for the heat was oppressive in the close 
confined berth. For a long time she lay awake — now thinking sad 
thoughts and shedding sadder tears — now listening to the hum of 
voices in the outer cabin, broken occasionally by songs and merry 
bursts of laughter. 

The Captain’s wife and her sisters, she found, were on their way 
to Anster fair, which was to be held on the morrow, at which place 
they were to be put on shore. And she remembered the old song 
of Maggie Lauder, and her encounter with the piper on her way to 
that celebrated fiiir : and was not a little amused to hear old Boreas, 
as if he had read her thoughts, roar out the national ditty in a hoarse, 
deep voice, as rough and unmusical as a norwester piping among 
the shrouds. 

As she reclined on her pillow, she could just see, through a small 
aperture in the red curtains that concealed her person from obser- 
vation, the party gathered around the cabin table. 

The captain’s wife was seated on his knee, and Jean’s pale cheek 
rested on her bridegroom’s manly breast. Old Boreas was in his 
glory, for the brandy bottle was before him, and he w'as insisting 
upon the ladies taking a glass of punch, and drinking success to 
the voyage. This they all did with a very good grace ; even the 
pensive Jean sipping occasionally from her husband’s tumbler. 

The captain’s wife began teasing him for a fairing, which he 
very bluntly refused to bestow. She called in the aid of Miss 
Nancy and Betsy, and they charged down upon him with such a 
din of voices, that the jolly tar emptied the contents of his leathern 
purse into Meg’s lap, who clutched the silver, and kissed him, ana 
clapped his broad back, and laughed like a child. 

By-and-by he was forced to leave her to go upon deck ; when shfi 
rose, and went to her brother, and laying her hand upon his shoul- 
der, addressed him in a manner so serious, so different from her for- 
mer deportment, that Flora could scarcely believe it was the same 
person that now spoke. 

“ Wullie, ye maun promise me to keep a gude look-out on Jock 
during the voyage. He’s jest killin’ o’ himsel wi’ drink. Ganna’ 
ye persuade him to gie it up ava ?” 

The mate shook his head. “Ye ken the ma’n, Miggif). He 
Wull gang his ain gate.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


m 

Maggie sighed heavily. “ It’s a puir look out for his wife an’ 
the tvva’ weans. He’ll no leave it aft’ for our sakes. But ye 
maun put in a word o’ advice now and then.” 

It’s of na’ use, Maggie. He’s as obstinate as a brute beast. 
If he wmll na’ do it for your sake and the bairns — he’ll no be 
convinced by word o’ mine. I’m thinkiii’, that opposition on that 
heid wud do raair harm than gude.” 

“ An’ then, they women folk — Wullie. He’s na’ to be trusted. 
Wi’ him — out o’ sight is out o’ mind. He never thinks o’ his wife 
at hame the moment he puts out to sea.” 

‘‘ Dinna’ be sae jealous, woman. Ha’ ye na’ faith?” said Col- 
lins, pressing Jean closer to his heart. “ Do you think that sailors 
ar’ wa’ than ither men ?” 

‘‘Ye are a’ alike,” sighed Meg, though doubtless Jean thinks 
ye wull ever be true to her, an’ keep your eyes shut when you pass 
a pretty lass for her sake. I ken you better.” 

“ I were nae worthy to be your brither’s wife, Maggie, an’ I 
doubted his honesty,” said Jean, indignantly, as she lifted her long, 
fair curls from her husband’s breast, and regarded him with a 
glance of profound devotion. “ If ye had mair faith in Jock, 
he wu’d be a better man.” 

“ It’s early days wi’ ye yet, Jean ; — wait a wee while afore ye 
find faut wi’ yer elders. Wullie wecl kens that I’m na’ mistrustfu* 
wi’out cause.” 

Flora did not hear the mate’s reply : sleep weighed heavily upon 
her eyelids, and she dropped off into profound repose. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
flora’s fellow-passengers. 

The grey dawn glimmered faintly through the bull’s-eye of 
ground glass in the ceiling of Mrs. Lyndsay’s cabin, before she 
again unclosed her eyes. She sat up in her berth and steadied her- 
self, glancing at first wonderingly around her, and marvelling where 
she was. The heaving of the vessel, and the quick rushing of the 
waves against her sides, informed her that the ship had saikid 
during the night, and recalled to her mind the evemts of the past 


182 


FLORA LYNBSAY. 


The voyage, whether for good or ill, had commenced ,* and the 
certainty of her present position relieved her mind of a heavy bur- 
den of anxiety. She rose and dressed herself, and earnestly, upon 
hei knees, besought the Almighty to protect them from the perils 
and dangers of the deep, and watch over them for good during 
their passage across the mighty waters. Nor were her fellow- 
passengers, although unknown to her, forgotten in her petition to 
the general Father. Strengthened and refreshed by this act of 
devotion, she felt her spirits revive and her heart expand with 
renewed cheerfulness and hope, and trustfully believed that God 
had given a favorable answer to her prayer. 

Early as the hour was, she found watchful eyes awake in the 
ship. The Captain was already on deck, and Sam Fraser, the 
steward, a smart lad of eighteen, was cleaning out the cabin. The 
boards felt cold and wet, and Flora, who was anxious to see all 
she could of the coast of Scotland, hurried upon deck, where she 
found her husband up before her, and convei’siug with the Cap- 
tain. 

The Anne, with all her white sails set, was scudding before a 
favorable wind, which whistled aloft strange solemn anthems in 
the shrouds. The sun had just climbed above the mountain-heights, 
that formed a glorious background to the blue, glancing waters, 
over which the ship glided like a thing of life. It was a splendid 
July morning, and the white-crested billows flashed and rolled their 
long sparkling surges beneath a sky of cloudless brilliancy ; and all 
nature glowed with life and beauty, as land and sea looked up 
rejoicingly, to hail the broad, open eye of day. 

“ ’Twas heaven above — ^around — below.’’ 

The romantic features of the coast, with all the poetical and 
historical associations connected with it — the deep music of 
ocean — the very smell of the salt brine, filled the heart of Flora 
Lyndsay with hope and joy. To have gazed upon such a soul- 
stirring scene, with a mind burdened with painful regrets, would 
have been an act of impiety towards the bountiful Creator, whose 
presence is never more fully recognised than when following the 
course that His wisdom has shaped out for us across that pathless 
wilderness of waves — that wonderful mirror of His power, which, 
whether in storm or shine, faithfully reflects the glory and great- 
ness of its Maker. 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


183 


With returning health and spirits, Flora’s mind recovered its 
former tone ; she felt not only contented, but happy, and submitted 
herself with child-like confidence to the protecting care of the Uni- 
versal Father. 

“ All, doubtless,” she thought, “ is ordained for the best. If 
not for us, for our children. Others have toiled for us ; it is but 
meet that we should toil in our turn. It is to the workers, not to 
the dreamers, that earth opens up her treasures. Life is beset with 
trials, take which path we may. The brightest sky at times is 
darkened by clouds ; the calmest ocean vexed with storms. What 
matters it that we are called upon to bear the burden and heat of 
the day, if we receive the reward of our labors at night ? If the 
sunset is fair and peaceful, who recalls the tempest that darkened 
the heavens at noon ? The quiet grave receives all at last ; and 
those who have worked hardest on earth, will find a brighter 
morning for their eternal holiday of love and praise.” 

“What are you thinking of. Flora?” said Lyndsay, drawing her 
arm within his own. 

“ I was thinking, dearest, that it was good to be here.” 

“ Your thoughts, then, were an echo of my own. Depend upon 
it, Flora, that we shall find it all right at last.” 

For a long time they stood together, silently surveying the mag 
nificent coast that was rapidly gliding from them. Lyndsay’s soul- 
lighted eyes rested proudly upon it, and a shade of melancholy 
passed across his brow. It was his native land, and he deeply felt 
that he looked upon its stern, majestic face for the last time. But 
he was not a man who could impart the inner throbbings of his 
heart (and it was a great heart) to others. Such feelings he con- 
sidered too sacred to unveil to common observation — and even she, 
the wife of his bosom, could only read by the varying expression 
of his countenance the thoughts that were working within. 

“ Courage, my dear Flora,” he said at length, with one of his 
own kind smiles. “ All will be well in the end, and we shall still 
be happy in each other’s love. Yes — as happy in the backwoods 
of Canada as we have been in England.” 

Flora felt that with him she could be happy anywhere — ^that 
paradise would be a prison, if his presence did not enliven and give 
interest to the scene. 

Few of the emigrants had found their way to the deck at that 
early hour ; and for some time Flora enjoyed a charming 


184 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


with her husband. Gradually the deck grew more populous ; and 
men were seen lounging against the bulwarks, smoking their pipes, 
or performing their ablutions — a wooden tub and canvass bucket 
serving them for hand-basin and water-jug. Then commenced the 
great business of cooking the morning meal ; and Hannibal, the 
black lord of the caboose, was beset by a host of scolding, jabber- 
ing women, all fighting and quarrelling for the first chance at the 
stove. He took their abuse very coolly, settling the dispute by 
making the auld wives draw lots for precedence. They consented 
to this arrangement with a very bad grace. Not more than four 
kettles could occupy the fire at one time ; and though some clubbed, 
and made their mess of porridge together in one large pot, the rest 
grumbled and squabbled during the whole operation, elbowing and 
crowding for more room, and trying to push each other’s coflee and 
teapots into the fire. And then, all in a breath, at the very top of 
their shrill voices, appealed to Hannibal to act as umpire among 
them, and establish their claims to the best side of the fire ; his 
answer was brief and to the point — 

“ Here be dis fire. You hab him in so long. Him wait for no 
one. Your time up. You take off pot, or I pitch pot into sea. 
Others must eat as well as you ; so keep your breath to cool your 
porridge ; and if that no suit you, fight it out — fight it out !” 

And here he flourished over their heads his iron ladle, full of some 
scalding liquor, which silenced the combatants for one while, until a 
new set of applicants emerging from the gangway, made them rush 
more vigorously than ever to the charge. 

As Flora continued pacing the deck, and watching the noisy 
group round the cooking-stove, she felt no small degree of curiosity 
respecting them. Kude and unpolished as they appeared to be, 
they were yet her fellow-voyagers to that unknown land to which 
all their hopes and fears instinctively turned ; and she could scarcely 
regard with indifference those whom Providence had thrown 
together in pursuit of the same object. She wanted to know some- 
thing about them from their own lips — what their past lives had 
been, what were their future prospects, and the causes that had led 
them to emigrate to Canada. Perhaps something of the same feel- 
ing is experienced by most persons suddenly thrown together and 
confined for some weeks in such a narrow space as the interior of a 
small brig — for the Anne contained more passengers for her size and 
tonnage than many large, three-masted vessels. During the long 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


185 


voyage her curiosity was amply gratified, and she learned something 
of the history and characters of most of these people. First, there 
was an old highland soldier, whc had served during the greater 
part of the Peninsular war, and had seen a great deal of hard 
service, and received a number of hard knocks in the way of 
wounds and broken bones, of which — now the pain and danger was 
over — he was not a little proud, as they formed a never-ending 
them of boasting and self-exaltation ; and had honest Donald Mac- 
donald charged his fellow-passengers a penny a peep at the scars on 
his legs, breast, and arms, he might have made enough to pay the 
expenses of his passage out. “ His wounds,” he said, “ were all in 
the right place. He was too well-bred to turn his back to an 
enemy.” 

Macdonald was one of the many unfortunate old pensioners, who 
had been induced to part with a certain provision for his old age, 
to try his fortunes in the backwoods of Canada. 

He knew as little of hard labor as any officer in his regiment, 
still less of agricultural pursuits, and perhaps could barely have told 
the difference between one sort of grain and another, having entered 
the army a mere boy, quite raw and inexperienced, from his native 
hills. 

He had a wife, and five rude, brawny, coarse children — the three 
eldest girls from seven to fourteen years of age. “ They were not 
of the right sort,” he said ; “ but they were strong enough for boys, 
and would make fine mothers for dragoons, to serve in case of war.” 

But as Canada is not at all a belligerent country, these qualifi- 
cations in his bouncing, red haired lassies, were no recommedation. 

The two spoilt boys were still in short coats, and could afford 
little help to their veteran father for many years to come. 

Donald had formed the most extravagant notions of Canada. In 
his eyes it was a perfect El Dorado, where gold was as plentiful as 
blackberries upon the bushes. He never seemed to have given the 
idea of having to work for his living a thought — and he laughed 
at a notion so disagreeable and repugnant to his old habits, as 
absurd — 

“Wha’ was the use of ganging to a new country,” he said, “if 
a bodie had to work as hard there as in the auld ?” 

After paying his passage-money, and providing provisions for 
the voyage, he had only the sum of nineteen pounds remaining, 
which he considered an inexhaustible fund of wealth, from which 


186 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


he was to obtain, not only a comfortable living in the land of prom- 
ise, but an independent fortune. He was entitled to a grant of 
land, which he said, would make him a laird, and place him on an 
equal footing with the lairds it the backwoods of Canada.’* 

Flora often wondered, in after years, what became of poor Mac- 
donald and all his high-flown dreams of future greatness. 

The wife of the old soldier was a tall, raw-boned, red-fisted vira- 
go, who fought with both fists and tongue. She semed to live in a 
perfect element of strife ; a quarrel could not exist in the ship with- 
out her being either the original cause, or the active promoter of 
it, after it-was once set on foot. She would bully the captain, out 
swear the sailors, and out-scold all the rest of the femalities in the 
vessel. 

The daughter of a soldier, born amidst the horrors of war, and 
brought up as a camp follower, her ignorance of all the gentler 
humanities of life was only exceeded by her violence. While assist- 
ing in pillaging the dead, after the battle of Waterloo, she had found 
the sum of a hundred gold Napoleons concealed in a belt upon the 
person of a dead French officer. This made her a woman of for- 
tune, and led to her marriage with her present husband ; for she, 
like the woman of Samaria, had had several, who doubtless were 
glad to be released by death from the unnatural tyranny of such a 
mate. Macdonald was an easy, good-natured man, who, for the salre 
of peace, let the wilful woman have her own way, and thrash him 
and the bairns as often as the wicked spirit by which she was pos- 
sessed, prompted her to exhibit these peculiar marks of her con- 
jugal and maternal love. 

Had Macdonald been asked why he submitted to such base treat- 
ment from his wife, he might have answered with the tall Canadian 
backwoodsman, when questioned on the same subject — 

It pleases her, and it don’t hurt I.” 

Mrs. Macdonald was in a delicate situation, and from the very 
day the ship sailed, she gave out that she was on the eve of an 
increase to her interesting family — to the great indignation of the 
Captain, who had a mortal antipathy to babies ; and he declared, in 
his rough way, “ That it was an imposition ; Mrs. Macdonald had 
no right to swindle him into taking out more passengers than he 
had bargained for. 

The stalwart dame was enchanted that she had found out a way 
to annoy the Captain, to whose orders she was forced to submit. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


187 


and wLom, in consequence, she regarded as a bitter enemy, and she 
did all m her power to encourage his fears respecting her. When- 
ever he paced the deck in sullen dignity, she began to sigh and 
groan, and declare, in a voice loud enough for him to overhear, 
‘‘that she did na’ think that she could baud out anither day ava.” 

There was another pensioner on board, who was the sworn friend 
and countryman of Macdonald. Hugh Mackenzie was a dragoon, 
and a fine, tall, soldierly-looking man. His wife was a little, 
chatty, gossipping woman, from Berwickshire. A good creature 
in her way, but sadly addicted to the use of strong waters, drown- 
ing the little sense she had in the fumes of whiskey and brandy. 
She and her husband spent all their time in eating and drinking, 
when they were not taking snufi* and smoking. They were cook- 
ing, or preparing for it, from morning till night ; and generally 
headed the forlorn hope that three times a day besieged the car- 
boose, and defied the valiant Hanibal to his very teeth. 

Mrs. Mackenzie was the very reverse of her good friend, Mrs. 
Macdonald, for she stood in perpetual fear of her tall husband, who 
thrashed her soundly when she got drunk ; moreover, she was very 
jealous of all the young women in the ship, whom she termed 
“ Lazy, bold, gude-for-naught hizzies, who wud na’ led a’ bodies 
man alane.” 

She would sit for hours on deck smoking a short, black pipe, and 
crooning old border ballads, in a voice anything but musical. 

During Flora’s long morning promenade upon deck, she more 
than once caught a pair of yellow, queer-looking eyes peering at 
her from beneath the shade of one of the boats that were slung to 
the main-mast, and by-and-by, a singularly disagreeable looking 
head raised itself from a couch of cloaks, and continued its investi- 
gation in a very impertinent and intrusive manner. The head 
belonged to a little man in a snuff-colored suit, whose small, pert, 
pugnacious face, eyes, hair and complexion, were only a variety of 
the same shades as the dress in which he had cased his outer man. 
Flora quietly pointed him out to her husband, and asked, in a whis- 
per, “ What he thought of the little brown man?” 

“His appearance is not at all prepossessing,” said Lyndsay. 
“ I will ask the Captain, who is coming this way, who and what 
he is ?” 

The question seemed to embarrass old Boreas not a little. He 
threw a frowning glance towards the spot occupied by the stranger, 


188 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Bkrugged his shoulders, whistled a tune, and thrusting his hands 
into his breeches’ pockets, took several turns on the deck before he 
made any reply. Until seeing the snuff-colored individual about to 
crawl out of his hiding-place, he called out, in a gruff voice — 

“ Keep where you are, sir — the longer you remain out of sight 
the better By exposing yourself to observation, you may cause 
trouble to more persons than one/” 

The person thus unceremoniously addressed, smiled malignantly, 
and retreating beneath the shade of the boat, snarled out some 
reply, only audible to the Captain ; whose advice did not, however, 
seem lost upon him, for after the Lyndsays had taken another turn 
or two, and he had glared at them with his little fiery eyes suffi- 
ciently to gratify his insolent curiosity, he again emerged from 
under the boat, and succeeded in tumbling into it — and drawing a 
part of a spare sail over his diminutive person, he vanished as com- 
pletely from sight as if the ocean had suddenly swallowed him up. 

“ I was a d d fool !” muttered the Captain, returning to Lynd- 

say’s side, “ to let that fellow, with his ugly, sneering phiz, come on 
board. But as he is here, I must make the best of a bad bargain. 
You will not peach, so I’ll just give you a bit of his history, and 
explain the necessity of his keeping close until we are out of the 
sight of land. Hang him ! His ugly phiz is enough to sink the 
ship. Had I seen him before he came on board, he might have rota- 
ted in jail before I took charge of his carcase ; and then, ’tis such 
a conceited ass, he will take no advice, and cares as little for his 
own safety as he does for mine.” 

“ Is he a runaway felon?” asked Flora. 

“You have not made a bad guess. Mistress Lyndsay. He was 
a distiller,, who carried on a good business in Edinburgh. He 
cheated the government, and was cashiered for a large sum — more 
than he could pay by a long chalk. His friends contrived his 
escape, and smuggled him on board last night, just as the anchor 
was being weighed. They offered me a handsome sum to carry 
him to Quebec ; and should he be discovered by any of the pas- 
sengers before we lose sight of the British coast, he would be 
seized when the ship puts into Kirkwall, and it would be a bad 
job for us both. The transaction is entirely between his friends 
and me ; Mr. Gregg knows nothing about it.” 

“ And are we to have the pleasure of his company in the cabin 
during the voyage ?” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


189 


“ That would be bad indeed. No, he has a berth provided for 
Him in the store-room, and has the privilege of having his grub 
sent to him from the cabin-table, and the use of the tea and coffee- 
pot after we have done with it. This is quite good enough for a 
rogue like him. But I hear Sam Frazer hallowing for breakfast. 
Come down to the cabin, Mrs. Lyndsay ; the sea air must have 
made you hungry.’* 

“ Indeed, I am, captain, and mean to do ample justice to your 
sea fare.” 

The little cabin was in apple-pie order. A clean diaper cloth 
covered the table, on which the common crockery cups and saucers 
were arranged with mathematical precision, while the savory smell 
of fried fish and hot coffee promised the hungry emigrants a sub- 
stantial breakfast. 

On inquiring for Hannah and James Hawke, Flora found that 
both were confined to their berths with sea-sickness. Old Boreas 
complimented her not a little on her being able to appear at the 
breakfast table. The fish proved excellent — the coffee, a black, 
bitter compound, which Flora drank with a very ill grace. The 
captain, with an air of exultation, produced from his own private 
cupboard, which formed the back pannelling of his berth, a great 
stone jar of milk, which his wife had prepared with sugar to last 
him the voyage. 

“ Have you no cow on board ?” asked Flora, rather anxiously ; 
for little Josey and her comfort were always uppermost in her 
mind. 

‘‘Cowl Who the devil would be bothered with a cow,” said 
Boreas, “ when he can procure a substitute like this ? Here’s my 
dun cow, she’ll give us what we want, without the trouble of milk- 
ing. Won’t she, Sam?” appealing to his steward to second his 
assertion. 

“ Yes, sir and Sam grinned applause. “ But I’m jist think- 
in’, Coptain, that the weather’s o’er hot, an’ the dun cow may gang 
drie afore we see Canada.” 

The captain’s cow turned out a very sorry animal ; for in less 
than two days, the milk was so putrid that it had to be thrown 
overboard, and his cabin passengers were forced to drink the vile 
coffee, and still viler tea, without milk during the rest of the 
voyage, with only coarse brown sugar to soften its disagreeable 
flavor. 


190 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


It must be confessed that the cabin bill of fare presented no 
tempting variety. After the first week, the fresh mutton and beef 
were changed to salt pork and hard junk, ship biscuit and peas, and 
potatoes ot last year’s growth, rancid butter, and oatmeal por- 
ridge, with porter and brown sugar for sauce — and sometimes, but 
this* was a very great dainty — a slice of Dunlop cheese. Nothing 
but hunger, and constant exercise upon the deck in the open air, 
reconciled Mrs. Lyndsay to this coarse diet. It was Lot what 
they had been promised, but complaints were useless. There cer- 
tainly was no danger of hurting their health by over-indulgenc-e, 
as it was with difficulty they could satisfy their hunger with the 
unpalatable fare, which was old, and not even good of its kind. 

The Lyndsays were always glad when the homely meal was over, 
and they could escape once more to the deck, and enjoy the fine 
coast views and the fresh, invigorating sea breeze. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE LAST GLANCE OF SCOTLAND. 

The weather for the next three days continued as fine ns summei 
weather could be. With wind and tide in her favor, the Anne 
made a splendid run through the Moray Frith, passed the auld town 
of Aberdeen, and before sunset, sailed close under the dreary Caith- 
ness coast. 

Flora examined John o’ Groat’s house with some interest, and 
for the first time in her life discovered that the fantastic red rock 
which bears that name, was not a bo7ia fide dwelling, which up to 
that moment she had imagined it to be. 

A prospect more barren and desolate than that over which Caith- 
ness Castle rises pre-eminent, can scarcely be imagined. Flora 
turned from the contemplation of the stony waste with an inward 
thanksgiving, “ that it was not her home.” But when they round- 
ed Duncansby Head, the scene, before so tame and sterile, became 
more grand and picturesque every moment. They were now in 
the stormy Pentland Frith, threading their way, with the aid of a 
pilot, through its romantic labyrinth of islands, driven onward by 
a spanking wind. 

*J’he bold outline of the coast was so different in its character 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


191 


from that to whicii she had been accustomed from a child, that 
it made a powerful impression upon her mind, and auickly asso 
ciated itself with all legends of the wild and marvellous that she 
had ever heard or read. Those beetling crags, those ocean caves, 
into which the wild sea-waves rushed with such a fearful din, 
seemed fitting habitations for all the evil demons that abound 
in the Scandinavian mythology, once dreaded as stern realities, in 
a darker stage of human progression. 

How tame, beside these awful sublimities, appeared the gentle, 

sloping cliffs at , and her little cottage fronting the quiet 

bay! 

“ Green lie these thickly timber’d shores, 

Fair sloping to the sea.” 

But here rocks upon rocks, in endless confusion, reared their 
craggy heads towards heaven, their frowning shadows casting a 
stygian gloom upon the billows that leap and roar around their 
massive base. A perpetual war of ages these billows have waged 
against the iron barriers that, with silent, motionless, resistless 
force, repel their white-crested phalanx, scattering them into 
shining fragments of snowy spray. Ocean will not be defeated ; 
he calls his legions again and again to the charge, only to be 
broken and beaten back as before. They retreat with a sullen roar 
of defiance, that seems to say, “You have beaten us ; but we will 
try our strength against you once more. The day is coming when 
one of us two must yield.” 

The rocks assumed all hues in the fiery beams of the setting sun. 
The red granite glowed with tints of crimson, violet, indigo, and 
gold, these colors assuming a greater intensity when reflected in the 
transparent waters of the Frith. It was a scene to see, not to prate 
about, and the memory of its brilliancy still lies enshrined, like some 
precious gem in Flora Lyndsay’s heart. 

As headland after headland flew past, revealing at every point 
some fresh combinations of grandeur and beauty bursting upon the 
sight. Flora clapped her hands together in a sort of ecstasy, and 
could scarcely refrain from shouting aloud with delight. 

Lyndsay was standing silently beside her, watching with an air 
of melancholy interest the scene which excited in her nature-loving 
breast such intense enthufeiasm. 

“ Flora, do you see that old-fashioned mansion that crowns the 
green ampitheatre, surrounded by those lofty hills in front of us 


j\)2 FLORA LYNDSAy. 

Oh, ’tis a lovely, romantic place — with that* giant hill that Ityoks 
like an old man in a highland bonnet, towering above it, away there 
in -he back ground. That is the old man of Hoy. That old house 

IS M , where I was born and brought up.” He drew a deep, 

inward sigh, and turning his face from his wife, continued to gaze 
with an earnest longing, and could she have seen his eyes that were 
shaded by his hand, perhaps with a tearful glance oh the home of 
his childhood, of many generations of his family. The shades of 
night drew a veil over the stern landscape, and the moon rose up 
and bathed rock and crag and mountain height with a flood of sil- 
ver glory, adding a ghost-like, awful sublimity to the scene j but 
Lyndsay still leant upon the vessel’s side, watching with the same 
intense expression the black outline of the receding coast, which, in 
that uncertain light, presented an aspect of rugged, frowning desola- 
tion. 

The Captain expected to put into Kirkwall, at which place he 
had been requested by the owners to take in a supply of fresh pro- 
visions and water for the voyage — the water casks having been 
filled with the execrable waters o’ Leith, under the ostensible reason 
of keeping them from leaking until they could obtain a better sup- 
ply. But the wind and tide being in his favor, and enabling him 
to make a rapid run through the Firth, he thought it best to 
keep straight on. This, in the end, by leaving the vessel short of 
provisions and water, proved a short-sighted policy, while it greatly 
disappointed Flora, whom Lyndsay had promised to introduce to 
some of his friends, and give her a nearer view of the romantic 
islands, which, seen from the water, had excited her curiosity to the 
utmost. 

But the Anne spread her white wings to catch the fresh breeze 
that was piping its hoarse song among the shrouds, and sped far 
upon her westward way, leaving Mrs. lyndsay to upbi'aid the 
captain with having cheated her hopes, which now could never be 
realised. 

Boreas only laughed, and said — “ that he was d— d sorry, for 
that he would have to drink bad water and eat salt junk the rest 
of the voyage.” 

And what has become of the little man in brown ?” asked 
Flora; “I have not seen him since he crept into the boat.” 

“ We had a blow up this morning,” said Boreas. Y/lien I 
came on deck, my gentleman was marching about as bold as you 


FLOHA Li'NDSAY. 


193 


please, and had the impudence to threaten to kick one of the cmi 
grant children overboard, if he found him in his path again. 
When I remonstrated with the scoundrel on his impudence, as the 
father of the child knew him, and might report him to the pilot, 
he bade me ‘ Go to h — , and take care of my own people. He 
would not submit to my low tyranny. He would do as he pleased, 
without asking my leave !’ And then the fellow began to rave and 
swear in such an outrageous manner, that I could hardly resist the 
inclination I felt to pitch him plump into the sea. But I bad my 
revenge. Ha ! ha ! I had my revenge.” 

“ In what way ?” asked Lyndsay. 

The best way in the world ; and the snarling puppy had no 

one to blame but himself. My dog Oscar is d d ugly, but he’s 

the most sagacious beast in the world. He can tell an honest man 
at a glance, and he hates rogues. Oscar sat on his haunches, 
eyeing the little man with no very amiable squint during the row ; 
every now and then uttering a significant growl, and making a 
preparatory snap at Mr. Lootie’s legs, as if he longed to take the 
quarrel under his own especial management. In the heat of 
anger, Mr. Lootie kept raising his hands, and shaking them at me 
in a threatening manner. Oscar let it pass for what it was worth 
the first time ; but the moment the fist was raised a second tim^., 
he dashed into the little brute with tooth and claw, and pulling 
him to the ground, he gave him such a touzling, that the distiller 
was fain to roar aloud for mercy ; and I proved just then very 
deaf, and he got enough of it, I can tell you.” 

“Served him right,” said Flora; “I expect he will afford us 
some amusement during the voyage. Captain, where did you 
procure this codfish ? I never tasted anything so delicious in the 
fish way in my life.” 

“ Ah, I thought you’d find that a treat. Those fish were alive 
under the blue waters of the Firth an hour ago. Talk of the fine 
flavor of the Newfoundland cod ! they are not comparable to the 
fish caught in these rapid waters.” 

Flora was on deck by sunrise the next morning. The sky was 
still cloudless, but the breeze had freshened, and the sea was 
covered with short, rolling billows, which recalled to her mind a 
beautiful line in Ossian, where the old bard compares these white- 
crested, short waves to a flock of sheep coming tumbling over one 

9 


194 


FLORA LYNDSAT, 


another from the hills ; and in another place he terms the wind 
that moves them — 

“ The shepherdess of the sea driving her flocks on shore ” 

A tall, dark man, that was at the wheel, and bore the very appro- 
priate name of Bob Motion, whether real or assumed, it would be 
hard to say, called this short chopping sea, “ the white mice being 
out/’ 

Flora found it no easy matter to keep her feet on the deck while 
the vessel was going sideways through the water, but she hung on 
to the bulwarks, and was rewarded by the sight of the wild Suth- 
erland coast on the left, its brown heath-covered hills and fantastic 
rocks, conjuring up the form of Norna of the fitful Head — 

“ And of every wild shore that the northern winds know.” 

Yery few of the emigrants had ventured out of the steerage, being 
down with sea-sickness ; but Flora never suffered once from this 
distressing malady during the voyage. This morning, in particular, 
she felt well and in high spirits. A sense of glorious freedom in 
thus bounding over the free, glad waves, in feeling their spray upon 
her lips, and the fresh, wild breath of the wind fanning her cheeks, 
and whistling through her hair. The ship seemed endowed with 
life as well as motion, as she leaped from wave to wave, and breasted 
the flashing brine as if they were her servants, sworn to do her bid- 
ding. 

“ Well, Flora, what do you think of Lord Rae’s country?” said 
Lyndsay. 

It is terrific !” returned Flora ; I cannot look at that confusion 
of hills, lifting their tall heads to heaven, but I fancy that the earth 
has rebelled against her Maker, and dares to defy Him to his face. 
It is odd — a strange madness, you will think — but the sight of these 
mountains thrills me with fear. I feel myself grow pale while look- 
ing at them, and tremble while I admire.” 

To me, who was born among the hills. Flora, these sensations of 
yours are almost incomprehensible. But look, that broken arch of 
stone formed by those immense black rocks round which the wild 
waves revel, and leap in a glad frenzy, is the entrance to Loch Eri* 
bol. It is one of the grandest objects on this rugged co^t.” 

How often amid the dark woods of Canada did the stern sublim 
ity of that awful scene return to Flora Lyndsay in her dreams 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


19 


barren coast of Anticosti, the pine-covered precipices of free-«tone 
that frown over Chaleur Bay, and the mountain range that extends 
on the north of the St. Lawrence from the Gulf to Quebec, though 
they present every variety of savage scenery, cannot compete with 
the lonely, sterile grandeur that marks the indashing of the ocean 
waves into that Highland loch. 

The long, bright summer day wore to its close, and before the 
moon looked down upon the heath-clad hills, the light-house on 
Cape Wrath had diminished to a star amid the waves, and the 
coast of Scotland looked like a dim wreath of blue smoke upon the 
verge of the horizon. 

The little islands of Barra and Bona dimly distinguished above 
the waves, were the last of the British Isles that met Flora’s 
anxious glance ; and when they faded into the immensity of ocean, 
and were lost to sight, and the vessel fairly stood to sea, a sense of 
lonelii^ss, of perpetual exile, pressed so heavily upon her heart, 
that she left the deck, and sought her bed, that she might bewail in 
solitude her last passionate adieu to her native land. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

STEPHEN CORRIE. 

Now that the fear of detection was over, the little brown man 
fearlessly emerged from his hiding-place in the boat, and prome- 
naded the deck from morning till night, sneering at the steerage pas- 
sengers, and abusing the sailors in the most arrogant and assured 
manner. 

He was the most contrary, malicious, waspish elf that could well 
be imagined. If he could not find an opportunity for stinging and 
teasing with his ill-natured sarcasms and remarks, he buzzed around 
his victims like an irritated musquito, whose shrill notes of defiance 
and antagonism are as bad as its bite. The more Flora saw of Mr. 
Lootie, the less she wushed to see of him ; but she could not come 
upon the deck without his pestering her with his company, and 
annoying her with observations on his fellow-passengers, which were 
as unjust as they were cruel. 

It was in vain that she turned her back upon him, and gave him 
curt, ungracious answers, often affecting not to hear him at all. 


196 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


The little snuff-colored wretch was to 3 much at heart a sneak, with 
all his impudence, to be readily shook off. 

It was only when Oscar, who had attached himself to Mrs. Lynd- 
say and her child, accompanied her to the deck, that Mr. Lootie 
kept his distance. The fierce terrier had only to draw up his lip 
and show his ivories, hissing through them a short, ominous snarl, 
and the brown dwarf retreated with a growl and a curse into 
his boat. 

I am sorry to say that Flora actually fostered the deadly enmity 
that existed between Oscar and the recreant distiller, which seemed 
the more unjustifiable, as there was a positive personal likeness 
between the biped and quadruped. They had the same short, pert 
contour of face, the same petulant curl of the nostrils, the same 
fiery-red flash in the small yellow-brown eyes, and the very same 
method of snarling and showing off their white, malicious-looking 
teeth. The very color of Oscar’s long, rough coat was nearly the 
same with the scanty beard and hair of his inveterate foe. Could 
Oscar have spoken with a human tongue, he would have declared 
himself very little flattered by the resemblance ; for, rough as he 
was, he was an honest dog, and loved honesty in others. There 
was only one mental feature common to both — their capacity to 
hate and to annoy those they disliked. 

Occasionally the little brown man indulged in a fit of mirth. 
When retreating under the shade of his ark of safety — the boat — 
he would sing in a low bow-wow tone some ditty only known to 
himself, the upper notes of which resembled a series of continued 
snarls ; and Oscar would stop just in front of him, and snarl in 
return, till the patience of the musician was utterly exhausted, 
and he would rush out of his hiding-place, and pursue his hairy 
foe round the deck with a cudgel, uttering unmistakable curses 
at every blow. 

These skirmishes were nuts for old Boreas to crack, who, putting 
his arms akimbo, would encourage the pugnacity of his dog with 
loud cries — 

At him, Oscar ! — at him ! Give it him strong, my boy I” to 
the no small indignation of Mr. Lootie, who would retire, mutter- 
ing to himself — 

I don’t know which is the greatest brute of the two, you or 
your cur !” 

** My dog is a good physiognomist ; he knows best,’’ would be 


FLORA L TNDSAY. 


197 


the regoinder ; and the war would recommence with greater fiirj 
than ever. 

Mr. Lootie was not the only mysterious passenger on board the 
brig Anne. There was another who made his appearance among 
the steerage-passengers the moment the vessel was out of sight of 
land, to the astonishment of old Boreas and his crew — a young, 
handsome, dare-devil sort of a chap, who might have numbered 
six-and-twenty years, who called himself Stephen Corrie. He 
made his debu£ upon deck as suddenly and as unexpectedly as if 
he had fallen from the stars, and possessed the power of rendering 
himself visible or invisible at will. 

.No one knew, or pretended to know, who he was, or from whence 
he came. He had been smuggled on board by the women folk. 
It was their secret, and, though it must have been known to many 
of them, they kept it well. 

No luggage had he to encumber the hold, not a copper in his 
pockets, nor a change of raiment for his back ; the clothes he wore 
being of the lightest and cheapest description — a checked shirt and 
coarse white canvass jacket and trowsers comprising his whole 
wardrobe. He had laid in no provisions for the voyage, but lived 
upon the contributions of the poor emigrants, with whom he was 
the most popular man on board ; and no one was better fed, or 
seemed to enjoy better health or spirits. The latter commodity 
appeared perfectly inexhaustible. He laughed and sung, told long 
yarns, and made love to all the young women, whose especial dar- 
ling and idol he seemed to be. The first on deck, and the last to 
leave, he was a living embodiment of the long-sought-for principle 
of perpetual motion ; his legs and tongue never seemed to tire, and 
his loud, clear voice and joyous peals of laughter, rang unceasingly 
through the ship. When not singing, whistling, shouting, or 
making fun for all around him, he danced hornpipes, making his 
fingers keep time with his feet, by a continual snapping, which 
resembled the strokes of the tamborine or castinets. A more mer- 
curial, jovial fellow never set old Time at defiance, or laughed in 
the grisly face of Care. 

Tall and lithe of limb, his complexion was what the Scotch term 
sandy ; his short, curling hair and whiskers resembling the tint of 
red gravel, profuse in quantity, fine in quality, and clustering round 
his nigh, white forehead with most artistic grace. His features were 
regular and well cut, his large, bright, blue eyes overflowing with 


198 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


lairtli and reckless audacity ; and when he laughed, which was every 
other minute, he showed a dazzling set of snow-white teeth, and 
looked so happy and free from care, that every one laughed with 
him, and echoed the droll sayings that fell from his lips. 

Stephen Corrie v/as one whom the world generally calls an 
“ excellent-hearted fellow — an enemy to no one but himself.” 

We must confess that our faith in this class of excellent fellows 
is very small — these men who are always sinning, and tempting 
ethers to sin, in the most amiable manner. There are few individ- 
uals who do more mischief in their day and generation than these 
good-hearted young men, these sworn enemies to temperance and 
morality. Like phosphoric wood, they only shine in the dark, con- 
cealing under a gay, brilliant exterior, the hollowness and corrup- 
tion that festers within. 

Stephen Corrie was one of those men, whose heart is always pro- 
claimed to be in the right place, whose bad deeds men excuse and 
women adore. 

The day he made his first appearance upon the deck, the Captain 
flew into a towering passion, and marching up to him, demanded, 
with a great oath, “ How the devil he came on board, and what 
money he had to pay his passage?” 

Stephen showed his white teeth, and replied with a provoking 
smile — 

“ Not as the fair Cleopatra did to the great Caesar, rolled up in 
a feather-bed ; but under cover of a woman’s petticoat, most noble 
Captain.” 

‘‘ Have done with your d d fooling ! Who was the bold hussy 

that dared to smuggle you on board ?” 

“ I never betray a woman’s secret,” returned the audacious youth, 
bowing very low, with an air of mock gravity. “ God bless the 
dear sex ! it has befriended me ever since I could run alone. 
Women have been my weakness from the hour that I had discrimi- 
nation enough to know the difference between a smooth cheek and 
a hairy one.” 

“ And pray how do you intend to live?” 

“ Under the favor and patronage of the dear angels, who will 
never suffer their faithful slave and admirer to perish for lack of 
food.” 

T wish them joy of their big baby,” cried the rough seaman ; 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


199 


a most hopeful and promising child he seems, by this light ! And 
your name, sir 

“ Stephen Corrie.” 

“ Your profession 

“ A saddler by trade, an actor by choice, and a soldier by neces- 
sity. I hated the first of these, and never took well to the saddle ; 
the second pleased me, but not my audience ; and the last I took 
French leave of the other night, and determined to try how salt 
water would agree with my constitution.” 

“ How do you think a rawhide would agree with you ?” growled 
the Captain. 

“ He would be a brave fellow who would attempt to administer 
it,” said Stephen, with a flashing eye. “ But, to tell you the truth, 
I had too much of it at home in the shop. It was my father’s 
receipt for every sin of the flesh ; and the free administration of 
this devilish weapon made me what I am. But softly. Captain ; 
it is of no use putting yourself into a passion. You can’t throw 
me overboard, and you may make me useful, since Providence has 
placed me here.” 

“ Confound your impudence !” roared out old Boreas, in his sten- 
torian voice. “ Do you think that Providence cares for such a 
young scamp as you ?” 

Doubtless with reference to my improvement ; and, as I was 
going to say. Captain, I am wiling to work for my lodging. The 
women will never let such a pretty fellow as me starve ; and the 
ship is not so crowded but that you may allow me house-room. 
Reach here your fist, old Nor’-wester, and say ’tis a bargain.” 

The Captain remained with his hands firmly thrust into his 
breeches’ pockets ; but Flora knew, by the comical smile on his 
face, that he was relenting. 

“ You can’t help yourself. Captain, so we had better be friends.' 

“ And you have no money ?” 

“ Not a sixpence.” 

“ Nor clothes ?” 

“ None but of nature’s tanning, I did not choose to walk off 
with the king’s coat on my back ; and these duds were lent me by 
a friend. You see Captain, I am entirely dependent on your 
bounty. You can’t have the heart to be less generous than a par* 
cel of silly women.” 


200 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


‘‘You may well say, silly women. But how the deuce did you 
escape my observation ?” 

“ Ah, Captain, that was easy enough. I had only to keep on 
the blind side.” 

Boreas winced, he didn’t half like the joke. 

“ Well, sir, keep on the blind side of me still.” 

“ Don’t let me find you cutting up any capers among the women, 
or by J ove you’ll have to swim some dark night to Quebec without 
the help of a lanthorn.” 

“ Thank you. Captain ; I’ll take your advice, and keep in the 
dark. If you want security for my good conduct, all the women in 
the steerage will go bail for me.” 

“ Pretty bail, indeed ! They first cheat me out of my just dues 
by smuggling you on board, and then promise to give security for 
your good conduct. But I’ll take the change out of you, never 
fear.” And away walked the Captain, secretly laughing in his 
sleeve at his odd customer, who became as great a favorite with 
the blunt sailor as he was with his female friends. 

“ The fellow’s not a sneak, Mrs. Lyndsay ; I like him for that ; 
and if the women choose to feed him at their own charges, he’s 
welcome to what he can get. I shan’t trouble my head with pry- 
ing into his private affairs. 

The truth of the matter was, that Corrie was desperately in love 
with a very pretty girl, called Margaret Williamson, who, doubt- 
less, had smuggled her lover on board in female attire. The family 
of the Williamsons consisted of a father, two awkward rough lads, 
four grown-up daughters, and an old grandmother. Nannie and 
Jeannie, the elder daughters of the old man, were ugly, violent wo- 
men, on the wrong side of thirty ; Lizzie and Margaret were still in 
their teens, and were pretty, modest looking girls, the belles of the 
ship. The old grandmother, who was eighty years of age, was a 
terrible reprobate, who ruled her son and grandchildren with the 
might of her tongue — and a wicked, virulent tongue it was as ever 
wagged in a woman’s mouth. Constant was the war of words going 
on between Nannie and her aged relative, and each vied in out- 
cursing and scolding the other. It was fearful to listen to their 
mutual recriminations, and the coarse abuse in which they occasion- 
ally indulged. But, violent as the younger fury was, her respecta- 
ble grand-dame beat her hollow ; for when her tongue failed, her 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


201 


hands supplied tlie deficiency, and she beat and buffeted the younger 
members of the family without mercy. 

These two women were the terror of the steerage passengers, and 
the torment of the Captain’s life, who was daily called upon to set- 
tle their disputes. The father of this precious crew was so besotted 
with drink, and so afraid of his mother and eldest daughter, that he 
generally slunk away into a corner, and left them the undisturbed 
possession of the field. How a decent-loc king, well-educated young 
fellow, like Stephen Corrie, got entangled with such a low set, was 
a matter of surprise to the whole ship. But, desperately as they 
quarreled among themselves, they always treated their handsome 
dependent with marked respect, and generously shared with him the 
best they had. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE captain’s PRENTICE. 

For the first ten days the Anne made a capital run, and the Cap- 
tain predicted that if nothing went wrong with her, the port of 
Quebec would be made in a month, or five weeks at the farthest. 

James Hawke had recovered his health and spirits, and before 
many days had elapsed, had made friends with every one in the 
ship, but the little brown man, wdio repelled all the lad’s advances 
with the most dogged ill-humor. James had accomplished the feat 
of climbing to the top of the mast, greatly to his own satisfaction, 
and had won golden opinions from the Captain and all the sailors 
on board. He had examined every hole and corner in the ship, 
knew the names of most of the ropes and sails, and could lend a 
hand in adjustiug them, with as much promptness and dexterity as 
if he had served an apprenticeship to the sea for years. 

“ That lad was born for a sailor,” was the Captain’s constant 
cry. “ I have no son of my own. If his parents would give him 
to me, I would make him a first rate navigator.” 

J ames was flattered by the Captain’s remarks ; but he saw too 
much of his tyrannical conduct to a prentice lad on board, to wish 
to fill such a disagreeable post. 

Beujie Monro was a tall, thin, sicklydooking lad of sixteen, the 
Bon of a poor widow in New Haven, who had seen better days 

9 * 


202 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


The boy was proud and obstinate, and resisted the ill-treatment of 
his superior and his subordinates with a determination of purpose 
that did him no good, but only increased his own misery. 

The sailors, who knew that he was no favorite with the Captain, 
half-starved him, and played him a thousand ill-natured tricks. He 
was ill and unhappy, and tasked beyond his strength ; and Mr. 
Collins, kind as he generally was to others, was cruel and ' over- 
bearing to the wretched boy. Flora often saw the tears trembling 
in Benjie’s eyes, and she pitied him from her very heart. 

One morning Benjie had received orders' to do something in his 
particular calling from the mate ; but his commands were expressed 
in such a tyrannical manner, that he flatly refused to comply. 
Flinging himself upon the deck, he declared, “ he would die first.” 

“ We shall soon see who’s master here,” cried Mr. Collins, 
administering sundry savage kicks to the person of the half-clad 
boy, who lay as motionless before him as if he was really dead. 

After diverting himself for some time in this fashion, and finding 
that it produced no more effect in making the lad stir than if he 
had been wasting his strength on a log, he called up the Captain. 

^‘Dead is he?” said old Boreas. “ Well, we’ll soon bring him 
to life. Call Motion to fetch a light.” 

The light was brought, and applied to the toes and finger-ends of 
the boy, until they were severely scorched ; but his obstinate spirit 
bore the torturing punishment without moving a muscle or uttering 
the faintest moan.* 

“ By George ! I believe he is gone at last, and a good riddance 
of a bad bargain,” said the Captain. “ If he had a spark of life 
left in him, he could not stand that.” 

Lyndsay, who had been writing in the cabin, now came upon 
deck, and inquiring of the second mate what was going on, ran 
forward, and warmly interceded for the boy, telling the Captain 
and mate, in no measured terms, what he thought of their conduct. 

“ You would not say a word in his behalf, Mr. Lyndsay,” said 
Collins, “ if you knew what a sulky rascal he was. Insensible as 
he appears, he is as wide awake at this moment as you are.” 

“ He is a miserable, heart-broken creature,” said Lyndsay ; “ and 
if he had not been treated very badly, he would never attempt act- 
ing such a part.” * 


♦ A fact. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


203 


He’s a sullen, ill-conditioned brute,” said Boreas — “ that’s what 
he is.” 

“ I know enough of human nature, Captain Williams, to feel 
certain that the treatment to whfch he has just been subjected will 
never produce any beneficial change in his character.” 

“ Who cares a curse about him?” cried Boreas, waxing wrathy. 
‘‘ He may go to the devil for me ! If he’s dead, its time the fishes 
had his ugly carcase. Wright (this was his second mate), tell the 
carpenter to get Monro’s hammock, and sew him up, and throw 
him overboard.” 

A slight motion heaved the shirt about the breast of the unfortu- 
nate lad. 

‘‘ You see he is coming to himself,” said Lyndsay. “ My lad, 
how do you feel now?” 

The boy did not speak. The muscles of his mouth twitched 
convulsively, and large tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“ Captain,” said Lyndsay, “ do you see no wrong in treating a 
fellow-creature, and one, by your own account, born and brought 
up as well as yourself, like a slave?” 

“He’s such a disobedient rascal, that he deserves nothing 
better.” ^ 

“ Did you ever try kindness ?” 

The lad opened his large, sunken, heavy eyes, and looked at his 
protector with such a sad, woe-begone expression, that it had the 
effect of touching the heart of Mr. Collins. 

“ I’m afraid,” he said, in an aside to Lyndsay, “ that we have 
not acted quite right in this matter. But he provokes one to 
anger by his sullenness. When I was a prentice on board the 
Ariadne, I was not treated a bit better ; but I never behaved in 
that way.” 

“And did not the recollection of your own sufferings, Mr. Col- 
lins, plead somewhat in behalf of this orphan boy ? His temper, 
naturally proud, has been soured by adverse circumstances, and 
driven to despair by blows and abusive language. I think I may 
pledge myself that if he is used better, he will do his duty without 
giving you any further trouble.” 

“ Get up, Benjie,” said the Captain, “ and go to your work. I 
will look over your conduct on Mr. Lyndsay’s account. But never 
let me see you act in this mutinous manner again.” 


204 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


The boy rose from the deck, stammered out his thanks, and 
begging Mr. Collins to forgive his foolish conduct, limped off. 

The next day the lad was reported to the captain as seriously 
ill, and Mr. Collins, as he detailed his symptoms, said, “ that he 
was sorry that he had used such violence towards him the preced- 
ing day, as the poor fellow had expressed himself very grateful 
for the non-execution of the Captain’s threat of throwing him over- 
board.” 

“ Oh,” said Boreas, “ that was only to frighten the chap. I am 
not such a Turk as all that, though Mrs. Lyndsay has looked very 
seriously at me ever since. Well, Collins, what had we better 
give the fellow ?” And he started from the sea-chest on which he 
was sitting astride, and produced the medicine-chest. 

Flora had forgotten all about the little red-haired doctor, Mac 
Adie, and the kist o’ paisons, till the sight of the condemned article 
met her eyes. 

It was a large, handsome, mahogany case, inlaid with brass. 
The captain opened it with a sort of mysterious awe, and dis- 
played a goodly store of glass-bottles aud china-boxes. 

“ The lad’s in a high fever,” said Collins. “You had better 
give him something that wi^l cool his blood — Epsom-salts or cream 
of tartar.” 

“ Perhaps a little of both?” said Boreas, looking up at his prime 
minister with an inquiring, comical twinkle in his one eye. 

“ A single dose of either would do.” 

“Jjet it be salts then. Get me some hot water, and I’ll mix 
it directly.” 

The bottle of salts was produced, and the Captain proceeded 
to weigh out a quarter of a pound of salts. 

“ Into how many doses do you propose to divide that quantity?” 
asked Flora, who was watching his proceedings with considerable 
interest. 

“Divide?” said Boreas, emptying the salts into a small tea- 
cup, which he filled with boiling- water ; “ he must take it at one 
gulp.” 

“ Captain,” said Flora, rising, and laying her hand on his arm, as 
he was leaving. the cabin, “you will kill the boy !” 

“ Do you think that such a drop as that would hurt an infant?” 
said Boreas, holding out the cup. “ Why, bless the woman ! sail- 
ors are not like other folks ; they require strong doses.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


205 


Captain, I entreat you not to be so rash. Divide the quantity 
into four parts ; add as much more water to each, and give it every 
four hours, and it will do good. But if you persist in administer- 
ing it your way, it may be attended with very serious conse- 
quences.” 

“ Fiddle-de-dee ! Mrs. Lyndsay ; I’m not going to make a toil of 
a pleasure. He has to take it, and once will do for all.” In spite 
of her remonstrances, the obstinate old fellow went out to administer 
the terrible dose with his own hands to the patient. It operated 
as uutowardly as Flora had predicted, and the lad came so near 
dying that the Captain grew frightened, and perhaps his conscience 
tormented him not a little, as his previous harsh conduct had been 
the cause of the lad’s illness — and he gave up all faith in his own 
medical skill, and resigned the chest, and all its pernicious con- 
tents, into Flora’s safe keeping. 

The lad did ultimately recover from the effects of the Captain’s 
doctoring, but he was unable to do much during the rest of tlie 
voyage, and crawled about the deck like a living-skeleton. 

If the Captain took little notice of him, he never treated him, 
or suffered others to treat him, with the brutality that had marked 
his former conduct towards him. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE LOST JACKET, AND OTHER MATTERS. 

The routine of life on board ship, especially on board such a 
small vessel as the brig Anne, was very dull and monotonous, when 
once they lost sight of land. The weather, however, continued 
cloudless ; and though, after the first week, the favorable wind that 
had wafted them so far over their watery path in safety deserted 
them, and never again filled their sails, or directed them in a straight 
course, they had no cause to complain. The Captain grumbled at 
the prevalence of westerly winds ; the mates grumbled, and the sail- 
ors grumbled at having to tack so often ; yet the ship slowly and 
steadily continued to traverse the vast Atlantic, with the blue sky 
above, and the deep green sea below, both unruffled by cloud or 
storm. The health of both passengei’s and crew continued excel- 
lent ; the prentice lad, Monro, and Mrs. Lyndsay’s maid, Hannah^ 


206 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


forming the only exceptions. As to the latter, Flora soon disco vere(! 
that her illness was all apocryphal. She chose to lie in her berth 
all day, where she was fed from the cabin table, and duly dosed 
with brandy-and- water by the Captain, who did not attempt to 
conceal his partiality for this worthless woman. At night she 
was always well enough to get up and dance till after midnight 
on the deck with the passengers and sailors. Her conduct was a 
matter of scandal to the whole ship, and Mr. Collins complained 
of his brother-in-law’s unprincipled behaviour in no measured 
terms. “ But she’s a bad woman — an infamous woman, Mrs. Lynd- 
say. You had better part with her the moment you reach land.” 

This Flora would gladly have done ; but they had laid out so 
much money in her passage and outfit, that she did not like to in- 
cur such a heavy loss. She still hoped that, when removed from 
the bad influence of the Captain, she would behave herself with 
more propriety. A sad mistake — for this woman proved a world 
of trouble and sorrow as she was both weak and wicked, and her 
conduct after they reached Canada occasioned Flora much anxiety 
and uneasiness. 

She remonstrated with her — but she found her insolently indif- 
ferent to her orders. “ She was free,” she said, “ from all engage- 
ment the moment she landed in Canada. She should be a lady 
there, as good as other folks — (meaning her mistress) — and she was 
not going to slave herself to death as a nurse girl, tramping about 
with a heavy child in her arms all day. Mre. Lyndsay could not 
compel her to wait upon her on board ship, and she might wait 
upon herself for what she cared.” 

“But,” said Flora, “how do you expect to get your living in 
Canada ? You must work there, or starve.” 

“ Indeed !” said Hannah, tossing up her head. “ It’s not long 
that I shall stay in Canada. I’m going home with Captain Wil- 
liams. He has promised to divorce his wife, and marry me when 
he gets back to Scotland.” 

“ Marry you, and divorce his wife — the nice, kind woman you 
saw on board the night we sailed ! Can you lend a willing ear to 
such idle tales ? He can neither divorce his wife nor marry you — 
poor, foolish girl ! — wicked, I should add ; for your conduct, when 
your situation is taken into consideration, is an aggravation of 
hardened guilt.” 

“ It’s no business of yours, at any rate,” sobbed Hannah, who 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


201 


had tears always at command. ‘‘ I don’t mean to lose the chance 
of being a lady, in order to keep my word with you. You may 
get somebody else to wait on you and the child ; I won’t.” 

And she flounced back to her berth, and cried till the Captain 
went to console her. 

This matter led to a serious quarrel with old Boreas. Lyndsay 
reproached him with tampering with his servant, and setting her 
against her employers, and threatened to write to Mr. Gregg and 
expose his conduct. 

Boreas was first in a towering passion. He bullied, and swore, 
and cursed the impudent jade, who, he declared, was more compe- 
tent to corrupt his morals than he was to corrupt hers. That she 
was his mistress, he did not deny ; but as to the tale of divorcing 

his Jean for such a : as her, none but a fool could believe it 

for a moment.” 

He promised, however, but very reluctantly, to let the girl alone 
for the future ; and he remained as sulky and as rude as a bear to 
the Lyndsays for the rest of the voyage. 

As to little Josey, she did not at all miss the attentions of her 
nurse. Mrs. Lyndsay gave her a bath of salt water night and 
morning, in a small tub, which Sam Fraser duly brought to the 
little cabin-door for the baby! making a profound salaam, and 
proffering his aid to cook her food, and carry her upon deck when 
dressed. On deck she found abundance of nurses, from old Bob 
Motion to the stately Mr. Collins, who, when off duty, carried her 
about in his arms, singing sea songs or Scotch ballads, while she 
crowed and talked to him in the most approved baby fashion. But 
her kindest and best friend was Mr. Wright, the second mate. He 
had been brought up a gentleman, and had served his time as mid- 
shipman and master on board a king’s ship, and had been broken 
for some act of insubordination, which had stopped his further 
promotion in that quarter. He had subsequently formed an impru- 
dent marriage with some woman much beneath himself, and had 
struggled for many years with poverty, sickness, and heart-break- 
ing cures. He had, in the course of time, buried his wife and 
seven children, and was now alone in the world, earning his living 
as the second mate of a small brig like the Anne. 

The Captain hated him, but said, “ that he was an excellent sea- 
man, and could be depended upon.” The mate was jealous of him, 
and thought that the Captain preferred Wright to him, and con- 


208 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


sidered him the ablest man of the two. Bui old Boreas only 
hated him for being a gentleman of superior birth and breeding 
to himself. In speaking of him, he always added — Ah, d — n 
him, he’s a gentleman ! and writes and speaks Die. I hate gentle- 
men on board ship !” 

Mr. Wright, with his silver hair and mild, pale face, was a great 
favorite with Flora ; and while he carried Josey in his arms to and 
fro the deck, she listened with pleasure to the sad history of his 
misfortunes, or to the graphic pictures he drew of the countries he 
had visited during a long life spent at sea. He fancied that Josey 
was the image of the last dear babe he lost — his pet and darling, 
whom be never mentioned without emotion — hi% olue-eyed Bessy. 
She lost her mother when she was just the ago of Josey, and she 
used to lie in his bosom of a night, with her little white arms clasped 
about his neck. She was the last thing left to him on earth, and 
he had loved her with all his heart ; but God punished him for the 
sins of his youth by taking Bessy from him. He was alone in the 
world now — a grey-haired, broken-hearted old man, with nothing to 
live for but the daily hope that death was nearer to him than it was 
the day before, and he should soon see his angel Bessy and her 
poor mother again. 

And so he took to Josey, and used to call her Bessy, and laugh 
and cry over her by turns, and was never so happy as when she was 
in his arms, with her little fingers twined in his long, grey locks ; 
and he would dance her, and hold her over the vessel’s side to look 
at the big green waves, as they raced past the ship, dashing their 
white foam-wreaths against her brown ribs ; and J osey would regard 
them with a wondering, wide-open glance, as if she wanted to catch 
them as they glided by. 

“ Always towards home !” as Flora said ; for the westerly winds 
still prevailed, and they made slow progress over the world of 
waters. 

The Captain now found it necessary to restrain the great amount 
of cooking that was constantly going on at the caboose ; and as a 
matter of prudence, to inspect the stores of provision among the 
steerage passengers. He found many of these running very low, 
and he represented to all on board, the necessity of husbanding 
their food as much as possible, as he began to be apprehensive that 
the voyage would prove long and tedious, and the ship was only 
provided for a six-v^ks’ voyage. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


209 


The good folks listened to him with an incredulous stare, as if 
such a calamity as starvation overtaking them was impossible. 
From that day — ^and they had been just three weeks out — the peo- 
ple were put upon short allowance of water, which was gradually 
diminished from day to day ; Lyndsay was allowed half a pint extra 
for shaving, and this Flora was glad to appropriate for the baby’s 
use, and get her kind husband to shave with salt water and pre- 
pared soap. 

Unfortunately for the people on board the weather was very 
warm, and no rain had fallen of any account since they left Scot- 
land. Lyndsay and Flora had been greatly amused by a venture 
which an honest Northumbrian laborer was taking out to Canada, 
at which they had laughed very heartily. It was neither more nor 
less than nine barrels of potatoes, which they had told him was 
“ taking coals to Newcastle.” But droll as this investment of his 
small capital appeared, the hand of Providence had directed his 
choice. At the time when most of the food provided for the voyage 
was expended in the ship, the Captain was glad to purchase the 
laborer’s venture at three dollars a bushel ; and as each barrel con- 
tained four bushels of potatoes, the poor fellow made twenty-seven 
pounds of his few bushels of the “soul-debasing root,” as Cobbett 
chose to style it ; and as he was a quiet, sensible fellow, this un- 
hoped-for addition to his means must have proved very useful in 
going into the woods. A young fellow from Glasgow, who carried 
out with him several large packets of kid gloves, was not half so 
fortunate ; for though they appeared a good speculation, they got 
spotted and spoilal by the sea water, and he could not have realised 
upon them the original cost. 

Among the steerage passengers there was a little tailor, and two 
brothers who followed the trade of the awl, that always afforded 
much mirth to the sailors. The little tailor, who really might have 
passed for the ninth part of a man, he was so very small and insig- 
nificant, was the most aspiring man in the ship ; climbing seemed 
born in him, for it was impossible to confine him to the hold or the 
deck ; up he must go — up to the clouds, if the mast would only 
have reached so high ; and there he would sit or lie, with the sky 
above, and the sea below, as comfortable and as independent as if 
he were sitting crosslegged upon his board in a garret of one of the 
dark, lofty wynds of the ancient town of Leith. 


210 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


The Captain was so delighted with Sandy Kob’s aspiring spirit, 
that he often held jocose dialogues with him from the deck. 

“ Hallo, Sandy ! what news above there ? Can't you petition 
the clerk of the weather to give us a fair wind ?” 

“ Na’, Captain, I’m thinkin’ it’s of na’ use until the change o' 
the mune. I’ll keep a gude look out, an’ gie ye the furst intelli- 
gence o’ that event,” 

“ And what keeps you broiling up there in the full blaze of the 
sun, Sandy ? The women say that they are wanting you below.” 

“ That’s mair than I’m wantin’ o’ them. My pleasure’s above — 
their’s is a’ below. I’m jist thinkin’, it’s better to be here basking 
in the broad sunshine, than deefened wi’ a’ they clavers ; breathin’ 
the caller air, than suffocated wi’ the stench o’ that pit o’ iniquity, 
the hould. An’ as to wha’ I’m doin’ up here, I’m jest lookin’ out 
to get the furst glint o’ the blessed green earth.” 

“ You’ll be tanned as black as a nigger, Sandy, before you see 
the hill-tops again. If we go on at this rate, the summer will slip 
past us altogether.” 

Often during the night he would cry out, “ Ho, Sandy ! are you 
up there, man? What of the night, watchman — what of the 
night?” 

“Steady, Captain — steady. No land yet in sight.” 

And Boreas would answer with a loud guffaw, “If we were in 
the British Channel, tailor, I’d be bound that you’d keep a good 
look-out for the needle’s eye.” 

The shoemakers, in disposition and appearance, were quite the 
reverse of the little tailor. They were a pair of slow coaches, 
heavy, lumpish men, who would as soon have attempted a ride to 
the moon on a broomstick, as have ventured two yards up the mast. 
They were indefatigable eaters and smokers, always cooking, and 
puffing forth snwke from their short, brass-lidded pipes. They 
never attempted a song, still less to join in the nightly dance on 
deck, which the others performed with such spirit, and entered into 
with such a keen relish, that their limbs seemed strung upon wires. 
They seldom spoke, but sat upon the deck looking on with listless 
eyes, as the rest bounded past them, revelling in the very madness 
of mirth. 

Grordie Muckleroy, the elder of the twain, was a stout, clumsy- 
made man, whose head was stuck into his broad, rounded shoulders, 
like the handle of his body, that had grown so stiff from his stolid 


FLORA LYNDSAY, 


211 


way of thinking (if indeed he ever thought) and his sedentary 
habits, that he seemed to move it with great difficulty, and, in 
answering a question, invariably turned his whole frame to the 
speaker. He had a large, flabby, putty-colored face, deeply marked 
with the small-pox, from which cruel, disfiguring malady, he and 
his brother Jock seemed to have suffered in common. A pair of lit- 
tle, black, meaningless eyes looked like blots in his heavy visage — 
while a profusion of black, coarse, dirty hair, cut very short, stuck 
up on end all over his flat head, like the bristles in a scrubbing- 
brush. He certainly might have taken the prize for ugliness in the 
celebrated club which the Spectator has immortalized. Yet this 
hideous, unintellectual -looking animal had a wife, a neat, sensible 
looking woman, every way his superior, both in person and intelli- 
gence. She was evidently some years older than her husband, and 
had left a nobleman’s service, in which she had been cook for a 
long period, to accompany Gordie as his bride across the Atlantic. 
Like most women, who late in life marry very young men, she 
regarded her mate as a most superior person, and paid him very 
losing attentions, which he received with the most stoical indiffer- 
ence, and at which the rest of the males laughed, making constant 
fun of Gordie and his old girl. J ock was the counterpart of his 
brother in manners and disposition ; but his head was adorned with 
a red scrubbing-brush, instead of a black one, and his white, freckled 
face half covered with carrotty whiskers. The trio were so poor, 
that after having paid their passage money, they only possessed 
among them a solitary sixpence. 

Flora had hired Mrs. Muckleroy to attend upon her and the 
child during the voyage, at a dollar a week, which the poor woman 
looked upon as a Godsend, and was kind and attentive in proportion 
to the gratitude she felt for this unexpected addition to their scanty 
means. 

The day after they reached the banks of New-Foundland, and 
the ship was going pretty smartly through the water, Gordie hung 
his woollen jacket over the ship’s side while he performed his ablu- 
tions, and a sudden puff* of wind carried it overboard. 

Mrs. Lyndsay was sitting upon the deck with Josey in her arms, 
when she heard a plunge into the water, followed by a loud shriek, 
and Mrs. Muckleroy fell to the deck in a swoon. 

The cry of a man overboard I — a man overboard !” now rang 
through the ship. Every one present sprang to their feet, and 


212 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


rushed to the side of the vessel, looking about in all directions, to 
see the missing individual rise to the surface of the water, and 
Flora among the rest. 

Presently a black head emerged from the waves, and two hands 
were held up in a deplorable, bewildered manner, and the great 
blank face looked towards the skies with a glance of astonishment, 
as if the owner could not yet comprehend his danger, and scarcely 
realised his awful situation. He looked just like a seal, or some 
uncouth monster of the deep, who, having ventured to the surface, 
was confounded by looking the sun in the face, and was too much 
frightened to retreat. 

Lyndsay, the moment he heard the man plunge into the sea, had 
seized a coil of rope that lay upon the deck, and, running forward, 
hurled it with a strong arm in the direction in which Muckleroy 
had disappeared. Just at the critical moment when the apparition 
of the shoemaker rose above the waves, it fell within the length 
of his grasp. The poor fellow, now fully awake to the horrors of 
his fate, seized it with convulsive energy, and was drawn to the side 
of the vessel, where two sailors were already hanging in the chains, 
with another rope fixed with a running noose at one end, which 
they succeeded in throwing over his body, and drawing him safely 
to the deck. 

And then, the joy of the poor wife, who had just recovered from 
her swoon, at receiving her dead to life, was quite affecting, while 
he, regardless of her caresses, only shook his wet garments, exclaim- 
ing — “ My jacket ! my jacket, Nell, I have lost my jacket. What 
can a man do, wantin’ a jacket ?” 

This speech was received with a general roar ^of laughter, the 
poor woman and her spouse being the only parties from whom it 
did not win a smile. 

“ Confound the idiot !’’ cried old Boreas ; “ he thinks more of his 
old jacket, that was not w^orth picking off a dunghill, than of his 
wife and his own safety. Why man,” turning to the shoemaker, who 
was dripping like a water-dog, “ what tempted you to jump into the 
sea when you could not swim a stroke V* 

My jacket,” continued the son of Crispin, staring wildly at hig 
saturated garments ; “ It was the only one I had. Oh, my jacket I 
my jacket !” 

Strange that such a dull piece of siill life should risk his life for 
a jacket, and an old one that had seen good service and was quite 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


213 


threadbare : but necessity replies, it was his only garment. A rich 
person can scarcely comp'*ehend the magnitude of the loss of an only 
jacket to a poor man. 

No one was more amusi'.d by the adventure of the jacket, than 
Stephen Corrie, who wrote a comic song on the subject, which 
Duncan the fiddler set to music, and used to sing, to the great an- 
noyance of the hero of the tale, whenever he ventured in his shirt 
sleeves upon the deck. 

The Duncans, for there were two of them, were both Highlanders, 
and played with much skill on the violin. They were two fine, honest, 
handsome fellows, who, with their music and singing, kept all the 
rest al ive. Directly the sun set, the lively notes of their fiddles called 
young and old to the deck, and Scotch reels, highland flings, and 
Bailors’ hornpipes were danced till late at night — often until the 
broad beams of the rising sun warned the revellers that it was time 
to rest. 

The Captain and the Lyndsays never joined the dancers ; but it 
was a pretty sight to watch them leaping and springing, full of 
agility and life, beneath the clear beams of the summer moon. 

The foremost in these nightly revels, was a young Highlander 
called Tam Grant, who never gave over while a female in the ship 
could continue on her legs. If he lacked a partner, he would seize 
hold of the old beldame, Granny Williamson, and twist and twirl 
ner around at top speed, never heeding the kicking, scratching, and 
.krieking of the withered old crone. Setting to her, and nodding 
at her with the tassel of the red nightcap he wore, hanging so jaun- 
tily over his left eye, that it would have made the fortune ot a comic 
actor to imitate — perfect impersonification of mischief and wild 
mirth. 

By-and-by the old granny not only got used to his mad capers, 
but evidently enjoyed them, and used to challenge Tam for her part- 
ner ; and if he happened to have engaged a younger and lighter 
pair of heels, she would retire to her den below, cursing him for a 
rude fellow, in no lullaby strains. 

And there was big Marion — b. tall, stout, yellow-haired girl, 
from Berwickshire — who had ventured out all alone to cross the wide 
Atlantic to join her brother in the far west of Canada, who was 
the admiration of all the sailors on board, and the adored of Ihe 
two Duncans. Yet she danced just as lightly as a cow, and shook 


214 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


her fat sides and jumped and bounded through the Scotch reels, 
much in the same fashion that Mey did, when — 

“ She up and walloped o’er the green, 

Far brawly she could frisk it.” 

Marion had had many wooers since she came on board ; but she 
laughed at all her lovers, and if they attefmpted to take any liber- 
ties with her, she threatened to call them out if they did not keep 
their distance, for she had “a lad o’ her ain in Canada, an’ she 
did’na care a bodle for them an’ their clavers.” 

Yet, in spite of her boasted constancy, it was pretty evident to 
Flora that Eab Duncan was fiddling his way fast into the buxom 
Marion’s heart ; and she thought it more than probable that he 
would succeed in persuading her to follow his fortunes, instead of 
seeking a home with her brother and her old sweetheart in the far 
west. , 

There was one sour-looking, puritanical person on board, who 
regarded the music and dancing with which the poor emigrants 
beguiled the tedium of the long voyage with silent horror. He was 
a minister of some dissenting church ; but to which of the many 
he belonged, Flora never felt sufficiently interested in the man to 
inquire. His countenance exhibited a strange mixture of morose 
ill-humor, shrewdness, and hypocrisy. While he considered him- 
self a vessel of grace, chosen and sanctified, he looked upon those 
around him as vessels of wrath, only fitted for destruction. In his 
eyes they were already damned, and only waited for the execution 
of their just sentence. Whenever the dancing commenced, he 
went below and brought up his Bible, which he spread most osten- 
tatiously on his knees, turning up the whites of his eyes to heaven, 
and uttering very audible groans between the pauses in the music. 
What the subject of his meditations were is best known to himself ; 
but no one could look at his low head, sly, sinister-looking eyes, 
and malevolent scowl, and imagine him a messenger of the glad 
tidings that speak of peace and good-will to man. He seemed like 
one who would rather call down the fire from heaven to destroy, 
than to learn the meaning of the Christ-spoken text — “ I will have 
mercy and not sacrifice.” 

Between this man and Mr. Loatie a sort of friendship had sprung 
up, and they might constantly be seen about ten o’clock, p. m., 
seated beneath the shade of the boat, wrangling and disputing 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


215 


about contested points of faith, contradicting and denouncing their 
respective creeds in an unchristianlike manner, each failing to con- 
vince the other, or gaining the least upon his opponent. 

“ That is the religion of words,” said Lyndsay, one day to Flora, 

as they had been for some time silent listeners to one of Mr. S 's 

fierce arguments on predestination — “ I wonder how that man’s 
actions would agree with his boasted sanctity ?” 

“ Let him alone,” said Flora ; “ time will perhaps show. I have 
no faith in him.” 

For three weeks the Anne was becalmed upon the banks. They 
were surrounded by a dense fog, which hid even the water from 
their sight, while the beams of sun and moon failed to penetrate 
the white vapor that closed them in on every side. It was no 
longer a pleasure to pace the deck in the raw, damp air and driz- 
zling rain, which tamed even the little tailor’s aspiring soul, and 
checked the merry dancers and the voice of mirth. Flora retreated 
to the cabin, and read all the books in the little cupboard at her 
bed’s-head. A “ Life of Charles XII. of Sweden,” an odd volume 
of Pamela,” and three of “ The Children of the Abbey,” com- 
prised the Captain’s library. What could she do to while away 
the lagging hours ? She thought and rethought. At length she 
determined to weave some strange incidents, that chance had 
thrown in her way, into a story, which might amuse her mind from 
dwelling too much upon the future, and interest her husband. So, 
unpacking her writing-desk, she drew forth a quire of genuine 
fooVs-cap^ and set to work ; and we here give to our readers, as a 
literary curiosity, the tale that Flora Lyndsay wrote at sea. If 
the character of the story should prove rather vapory, consider the 
circumstances under which it first saw the light — in the confined 
cabin of a little brig, and written amidst fog and rain, becalmed 
upon that dreary portion of the Atlantic, yclept “ the banks of 
Newfoundland.” 


216 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


CHAP PER XXXI Y. 

NOAH COTTON. 

[the story flora wrote at sea.] 

THE WIDOW GRIMSHAWB AND HER NEIGHBORS. 

On the road to , a small seaport town on the east coast of 

England, there stood, in my young days, an old-fashioned, high- 
gabled, red-brick cottage. The house was divided into two tene- 
ments, the doors opening in the centre of the building. A rustic 
porch shaded the entrance to the left from the scorching rays of 
the sun and the clouds of dust that during the summer months rose 
from the public road in front. Some person, whose love of nature 
had survived amidst the crushing cares of poverty, had twined 
around the rude trelliswork the deliciously-fragrant branches of 
the brier-rose, which, during the months of June and July, loaded 
the air with its sweet breath. 

The door to the right, although unmarked by sign or chequer- 
board, opened into a low hedge-tavern of very ill repute, well known 
through the country by the name of the “ Brig’s Foot,” which 
it derived from its near proximity to the bridge that crossed the 
river. A slow-moving, muddy stream, whose brackish waters 
seemed to have fallen asleep upon their bed of fat, blacb ooze, while 
creeping onward to the sea, through a long flat expanse of dreary 
marshes. 

The “ Brig’s Foot” was kept by the Widow Mason and her 
son, both persons of notoriously bad character. The old man had 
been killed a few months before, in a drunken brawl with some 
smugglers ; and his name was held in such ill odor that his ghost 

was reported to haunt the road that led to C churchyard, 

which formed the receptacle, but it would seem not the resting- 
place, of the dead. 

None but persons of the very lowest description frequented the 
tavern. Beggars made it their head-quarters; smugglers and 
poachers their hiding-place ; and sailors, on shore for a spree, the 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


2n 

scL‘ne of their drunken revels. The honest laborer shunned the 
threshold as a moral pest-house, and the tired traveller, who called 
there once, seldom repeated the visit. The magistrates, who ought 
to have put down the place as a public nuisance, winked at it as a 
necessary evil — the more to be tolerated, as it was half a mile be- 
yond the precincts of the town. 

Outwardly the place had some attractive features — it was kept 
80 scrupulously clean. The walls were so white, the floor so neatly 
sanded, and the pewter pots glittered so cheerily on the polished oak 
table that served for a bar, that a casual observer might reasonably 
have expected very comfortable and respectable accommodation 
from a scene which, though on an humble scale, promised so fair. 
Even the sleek, well-fed tabby cat purred so peacefully on the door- 
sill, that she seemed to invite the pedestrian to shelter and repose. 

Martha Mason, .the mistress of the domicil, was a bad woman, 
iu the fullest sense of the word — cunning, hard-hearted, and ava- 
ricious, without pity, and without remorse — a creature so hardened 
in the ways of sin, that conscience had long ceased to offer the least 
resistance to the perpetration of crime. Unfeminine in mind and 
person, you could scarcely persuade yourself that the coarse, 
harsh features, and bristling hair about the upper lip, belonged to 
a female, had not the tameless tongue, ever active in abuse and 
malice, asserted its claim to the weaker sex, and rated and scolded 
through the long day, as none but the tongue of a bad woman can 
rate and scold. An accident had deprived the hideous old croue of 
the use of one of her legs, which she dragged after her with the 
help of a crutch ; and though she could not move quickly in conse- 
quence of her lameness, she was an excellent hand at quickening 
the motions of those who had the misfortune to be under her 
control. 

Her son Robert, who went by the familiar appellation of “ Bully 
Bob,” was the counterpart of his mother — a lazy, drunken black- 
guard, who might be seen from morning till night lounging, with 
his pipe in his mouth, on the well-worn settle at the door, humming 
some low ribald song to chase away the lagging hours, till the 
shades of evening roused him from his sluggish stupor, to mingle 
with gamblers and thieves in their low debauch. The expression 
of this young man’s face was so bad, and his manners and language 
BO coarse and obscene, that he was an object of dislike and dread 
to his low associates, who regarded him as a fit subject for the 

10 


218 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


gallows In the eyes of his mother, Bob Mason was a very fine 
young man— a desirable mate for any farmer’s daughter in the 
country. 

The old Spanish proverb, “ Poverty makes a man acquainted 
with strange bedfellows,” was never more fully exemplified than in 
the case of these people and their next door neighbors. 

Dorothy Grimshawe was the widow of a fisherman, whose boat 
foundered in the dreadful storm of the 10th of October, 1824. Like 
many others, who sailed from the little port high in health and 
hope, expecting to reap a fine harvest from the vast shoals of her- 
rings that annually visit that coast, Daniel Grimshawe fell a prey 
to the spoiler. Death, that stern fisher of men. 

The following morning, after the subsidence of the gale, the beach 
for miles was strewn with pieces of wreck, and the bodies of forty 
drowned men were cast ashore. Most of these proved to be natives 
of the town, and the bodies were carried to the town-hall, and 
notice was sent to the wives of the absent fi^ermen to come and 
claim their dead. 

This awful summons quickly collected a ciwwd to tbe spot. 
Many anxious women and children were there, and Dorothy Grim- 
shawe and her little ones came with the rest. 

“ Thank the good God ! my man is not there,” said a poor 
woman, coming out with her apron to her face. “ The Lord save 
us — ’tis a fearsome sight.” 

“ He may be food for the crabs at the bottom of the sea,” said a 
hoarse voice from the crowd. You are not going to flatter your- 
self, Nancy, that you are better off than the rest.” 

‘‘ Oh, oh, oh!” shrieked the poor woman, thus deprived by envy 
of the anchor of hope to which she clung. “ I trusted in the mercy 
of God ; I could not look to the bottom of the salt deep.” 

“ Trust to Him yet, Nancy, and all will be well,” said an old, 
weather-beaten tar. “It is He who rules the winds and waves, 
and brings the storm-tossed ship into a safe harbor.” 

“ But what has He done for these poor men ? "Were they worse 
than the rest ?” sobbed Nancy. 

“ It is not for us to bring to light what He has left in darkness,” 
said the old sailor. “ He took three fine lads of mine in one night, 
and left me childless. But it is not for the like o’ me to murmur 
against Him. I always trusted to His providence, and I found 
that it gave me strength in the hour of danger.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


219 


Dorothy, ’ he cried, turning to Mrs. Grimshawe, “ it is your 
turn to go in. It’s no use crying and hanging back. Mayhap 
Dan has escaped the storm, an’ is spreading a white sheet to the 
fine, fresh breeze this morning.” 

“My heart feels as cold as a stone,” sobbed Dorothy; “I dare 
not go forward ; I feel — I know that he is there.” 

“ Shall I go for you ? I have known Dan from a boy.” 

“ Oh, no, no ; I must see with my own eyes,” said Dorothy ; 
“ nothiEg else will convince me that he is either saved or lost ;” 
and she hurried into the hall. 

Trembling with apprehension, the poor woman entered the mel- 
ancholy place of death. The bodies were arranged in rows along 
the floor, and covered decently with coarse, clean sheets. The 
mournful and mysterious silence which always broods above the 
dead, was broken by sighs and sobs — wives, mothers, sisters, and 
little children were collected in heartrending groups around some 
uncovered and dearly-loved face, whose glassy eyes, staring and 
motionless, were alike unconscious of their presence and theii 
tears. 

Mrs. Grimshawe recoiled with a sudden backward step — “ What 
if Dan is here ?” She pressed her hands tightly upon her breast — 
the stifled cry of agony and fear that burst from her lips, nearly 
choked her ; she clutched at the bare walls for support, and panted 
and gasped for breath. 

A little humpbacked child, after casting upon her mother a look 
of unutterable pity, slowly advanced to the first shrouded figure, 
and, kneeling down, reverentially lifted the sheet, and gazed long 
and sadly upon the object beneath. “ Father !” murmured the 
child ; no other word escaped her Quivering lips. She meekly laid 
her head upon the dead seaman’s breast, and kissed his cold lips 
and brow with devoted affection. Then, rising from her knees, 
she went to her pale, weeping, distressed mother, and, taking her 
gently by the hand, led her up to the object of her search. 

The winds and waves are sad disfigurers ; but Mrs. Grimshawe 
instantly recognised, in the distorted features, so marred in their 
conflict with the elements, the husband of her youth, the father of 
her orphan children ; and, with a loud shriek, she fell upon the 
bosom of the dead. Rough, pitiful hands lifted her up, and un- 
clasped the rigid fingers that tightened about his neck, and bore 
the widow ter lerly back to her desolate home. 


220 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Weeks went by, and the fisherman slept in his peaceful grava 
His little children had ceased to weep and ask for their father^ 
before Dorothy Grimshawe awoke to a consciousness of her terrible 
loss and altered fortunes. During the period of her mental derange- 
ment, her wants had been supplied by some charitable ladies in the 
neighborhood. Shortly after her restoration to reason, a further 
trial awaited her : she became the victim of palsy ; in the meridian 
of life she found her physical strength prostrate, and her body a 
useless, broken machine, no longer responsive to the guidance, or 
obedient to the will of its possessor. An active mind, shut up in 
a dead body — an imprisoned bird, vainly beating itself against the 
walls of its cage. Human nature could scarcely furnish a more 
melancholy spectacle ; speech, sight and hearing, were still hers, 
but the means of locomotion were lost to her for ever. 

The full extent of her calamity did not strike her at first. 
Hope whispered that the loss of the use of her lower limbs was 
only temporary, brought on by the anguish of her mind — that time 
and the doctor’s medicines would restore her to health and use- 
fulness. 

Alas, poor Dorothy ! How long did you cling to these vain 
hopes ! How reluctantly did you at last admit that your case was 
hopeless — that death could alone release you from a state of helpless 
suffering ! Then came terrible thoughts of the workhouse for 
yourself and your children ; and the drop was ever upon your 
cheek — the sigh rising constantly to your lips. Be patient, poor, 
afflicted one : God has smitten, but not forsaken you. Pity still 
lives in the human heart, and help is nearer than you think. 

In her early life Dorothy had lived for several years nursery-maid 
in a clergyman’s family. One of the children, entrusted to her care, 
had loved her very sincerely ; he was now a wealthy merchant in 
the town. When Mr. Eollins heard of her distress, he hastened to 
comfort and console her. He gave her part of the red-brick cot- 
tage, rent free, for the rest of her life ; sent her two youngest 
daughters to school, and settled a small annuity upon her, which, 
though inadequate to the wants of one so perfectly dependent, 
greatly ameliorated the woes of her condition. Dorothy had resided 
several years in the cottage, before the Masons came to live under 
the same roof. They soon showed what manner of people they 
were, and annoyed the poor widow with their rude and riotous mode 
of life. But complaints were useless. Mr. Rollins was travelling 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


221 


with his bride on thi continent ; and his steward, who had acce})ted 
i/he Masons for tenants, laughed at Dorothy’s objections to their 
character and occupation, bluntly telling her “ that beggars could 
not be choosers — that she might be thankful that she had a com- 
fortable, warm roof over her head, without having to work hard for 
it like her neighbors.” She acknowledged the truth of the remark, 
and endeavored to submit to her fate with patience and resigna- 
tion. 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

THE SISTERS. 

Mrs. GrimshaweT s eldest daughter, Mary, the poor hunchback 
before alluded to, was a great comfort to her afflicted parent. She 
seldom left her bed-side, and was ever at hand to administer to her 
wants. Mary was a neat and rapid plain sewer ; and she contrib- 
uted greatly to her mother’s support, by the dexterity with which 
she plied her needle. Her deformity, which was rendered doubly 
conspicuous by her diminutive stature, was not the only disadvan- 
tage under which Mary Grimshawe labored. She was afflicted 
with such an impediment in her speech, that it was only the mem- 
bers of her own family that could at all understand the meaning 
of the uncouth sounds in which she tried to communicate her ideas. 
So sensible was she of this terrible defect, and the ridicule it drew 
upon her from thoughtless and unfeeling people, that she seldom 
spoke to strangers, and was considered by many as both deaf and 
dumb. 

Poor Mary ! she was one of the meekest of God’s creatures — a 
most holy martyr to patience and filial love. What a warm heart 
— what depths of tenderness and affection dwelt in the cramped 
confines of that little misshapen body ! Virtue in her was like a 
bright star seen steadily shining through the heavy clouds of a 
dark night. The traveller, cheered by its beams, forgot the black- 
ness and gloom of the surrounding atmosphere. 

How distinctly I can recall that plain, earnest face, after the 
long lapse of years ! the dark, sallow cheeks ; the deep, sunken, piti- 
ful, pleading eyes ; those intelligent, deep-set, iron-grey eyes, that 
served her for a tongue, and were far more (doquent than speech, as 
they gleamed from beneath her strongly-marked, jet-black eyebrows * 


222 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


the thin lips thjit seldom unclosed to give utterance to what was 
passing in her mind, and that never smiled, yet held such a treasure 
of pearls within. Nature had so completely separated her from 
her kind, that mirth would have appeared out of place. She v/as 
plain in form and feature, but the beauty of the soul enshrined in 
that humble, misshapen tenement, shed over her personal deformh 
ties a spiritual and holy light. 

From the time of her father’s death, Mary had worked steadily 
at her needle to support herself and the rest of the family. The 
constant assiduity with which she plied her task, greatly increased 
the projection of her shoulder, and brought on an occasional spit- 
ting of blood, which resulted from a low, hacking cough. The 
parish doctor, who attended her bed-ridden mother, and who felt 
interested in her good, dutiful child, assured her that she must give 
up her sedentary employment, or death would quickly terminate 
her labor. 

“ But how, then,” asked Mary, ‘‘ can I contribute to the support 
of the family? My mother’s helpless condition requires my con- 
stant exertions. If I cease to work, she must starve.” 

The good doctor suggested respectable service as a more remu- 
nerative and healthier occupation. 

“ Alas !” said Mary, to go into service is impossible. Who 
will hire a domestic who is in delicate health, is deformed, and to 
strangers unintelligible ? You, sir, have known me from a child. 
You understand my broken words. You never hurry me, so that 
I can make you comprehend the meaning of my jargon. But who 
else would have the patience to listen to my uncouth sounds ?” 

The doctor sighed, and said that she was right, that going out 
would only expose her to constant mortification and ridicule ; and 
he felt very sorry that his own means were so limited, and his 
family so large, that he could only afibrd to keep one servant, and 
that an active, stirring, healthy woman, able to execute, without 
much bodily fatigue, her multitudinous daily tasks. He left the 
cottage with regret ; and Mary, for the first time, felt the bitter 
curse of hopeless poverty, and a sense of her own weakness and 
helplessness fell heavily on her soul. 

In this emergency, Mrs. Mason offered her a trifling weekly sti- 
pend, to attend during the day upon the customers, and to assist 
her in washing glass and crockery and keeping the house in order. 


FLORA LYNDSAl. 


223 


She knew her to be honest and faithful, and she was too homely to 
awaken any interest in the heart of her worthless, dissipated son. 

Mary hesitated a long time before she accepted the offer of her 
repulsive neighbor ; but her mother’s increasing infirmities, and 
the severe illness of her youngest sister Charlotte, left her no 
choice. Day after day you might see the patient hunchback per- 
forming the menial drudgeries of the little inn, silent and self- 
possessed — an image of patient endurance, in a house of violence 
and crime. It was to her care that the house owed its appearance 
of neatness and outward respectability. It was her active, indus- 
trious spirit that arranged and ordered its well-kept household 
stujff, that made the walls so cheery, the grate so gay with flowers, 
that kept the glittering array of pewter so bright. It was her 
taste that had arranged the branches of the wild rose to twine so 
gracefully over the rustic porch that shaded her sick mother’s 
dwelling, who, forbidden by the nature of her disease to walk 
abroad, might yet see from her pillow the fragrant boughs of the 
brier bud and blossom, while she inhaled their fragrance in every 
breeze that stirred the white cotton curtains that shaded her nar- 
row casement. 

Mary’s native sense of propriety was constantly shocked by un- 
seemly sights and sounds ; but their impurity served to render vice 
more repulsive, and to strengthen that purity of heart from which 
she derived all her enjoyment. Night always released her from her 
laborius duties, and brought her back to be a ministering angel at 
the sick bed of her mother and sister. 

These sisters I must now introduce to my readers, for with one 
of them my tale has mostly to do. Unlike Mary, they were both 
pretty, delicate-looking girls, ready of speech, and remarkably pleas- 
ing in person and manners. 

Mr. Kollins had paid for the instruction of these girls at the vil- 
lage school, in which they had been taught all sorts of plain work ; 
had mastered all the difficulties of Mavor’s Spelling-book, had read 
the Bible, the Dairyman’s Daughter, Pilgrim’s Progress, and Gold- 
smith’s abridged History of England, and all the books in the shape 
of penny tracts and sixpenny novels they could borrow from their 
playmates when school was over. 

Sophy, the elder of the two, who was eighteen years of age, had 
been apprenticed for the last two years with a milliner of an infe- 
rior grade in the little seaport town ; and her term of service hav- 


224 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


ing expired, sbe bad commenced making dresses in a bumble way, 
for the servants in respectable families. She bad to work very hard 
for a small remuneration, for the competition was very great, and 
without lowering her prices to nearly one-half, she could not have 
obtained employment at all. She could easily have procured a 
service as a nurse girl or housemaid in a gentleman’s family, but the 
novels she bad read during her residence with Mrs. Makewell, the 
milliner, had filled her head with foolish notions of her own beauty 
and consequence, and given her ideas far above her humble station, 
quite unfitting her to submit patiently to the control of others. 
Besides being vain of a very lovely face, she was very fond of dress. 
A clever hand at her business, she contrived to give a finish and 
style to the homely materials she made, and which fitted so well her 
slender and gracefully-formed person. 

Her love of admiration induced her to lay out all her scanty earn- 
ings in adorning herself, instead of reserving a portion to help pro- 
vide their daily food. Her sewing was chiefly done at home, and 
she attended upon her mother and sister, and prepared their frugal 
meals during the absence of Mary, whose situation in the “ Brig’s 
Foot” she considered a perfect degradation. 

Such was Sophy Grirashawe, and there are many like her in the 
world. Ashamed of poverty, in which there is no real disgrace, 
and repining at the subordinate situation in which she found her- 
self placed, she made no mental effort to better her condition by en- 
deavoring to surmount it by frugal and patient industry, and » 
cheerful submission to the Divine will. She considered her lot hard, 
the dispensations of Providence cruel and unjust. Sbe could not 
see why others should be better off than herself — why women with 
half her personal attractions should be permitted to ride in their 
carriages, while she had to wear coarse shoes and walk through the 
dust. She regarded every well-dressed female that passed the 
door, with feelings of envy and hatred, which embittered her life, 
and formed the most painful feature in the poverty she loathed and 
despised. 

Charlotte, the sick girl, was two years younger than Sophy, and 
very different in person, mind and character. A fair, soft, delicate 
face, more winning than handsome, but full of gentleness and sweet- 
ness, was a perfect transcript of the pure spirit that animated the 
faithful heart in which it was enshrined. She might have been 
described in those charming lines of Wordsworth, as — 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


225 


‘The sweetest flower that ever grew 
Beside a cottage door.” 

ConteEted in the midst of poverty, happy in the consciousness of 
moral improvement, patient under suffering, and pious without cant 
or affectation of superior godliness, she afforded, under the most 
painful circumstances, a rare example of Christian resignation to 
•the will of God, 

While reading the Gospel at school, as a portion of her daily 
task, it had pleased the All-Wise Dispenser of that blessed revela- 
tion to man, to open her eyes to the importance of those noble 
truths that were destined to set her free from the bondage of sin 
and death. She read, and believing that she had received a mes- 
sage from the skies, like the man who found the pearl of great price, 
she gave her whole heart and soul to God, in order to secure such 
an inestimable treasure. The sorrows and trials of her lowly lot 
were to her as stepping-stones to the heavenly land on which all 
her hopes were placed, and she regarded the fatal disease which 
wasted her feebl^/rame, and which had now confined her to the 
same bed with her mother, as the means employed by God to 
release her from the sufferings of earth, and open for her the gates 
of henven. How earnestly, yet how tenderly, she tried to inspire 
her afilicted mother with the same hopes that animated her breast ! 
She read to her, she prayed with her, and endeavored to explain 
in the best way she could that mysterious change which had been 
wrought in her own soul, and which now, on the near approach of 
death, filled her mind with inexpressible joy. 

This reading of the Scriptures was a great consolation to the 
poor widow ; and one day she remarked, in a tone of deep regr jt 
and with many tears — 

“ Who will read the Bible to me, Charlotte, when you are gone? 
Mary cannot read, and if she could, who could understand what 
she read, and Sophy hates everything that is serious, and is too selfish 
to trouble herself to read aloud to me.” 

Mother, I have thought much about that of late,” said the sick 
girl, raising herself on the pillow into a sitting posture, and speak- 
ing with great earnestness. *•' The doctor said yesterday that I 
might survive for six or seven weeks longer — perhaps,’ he added, 
‘ until the latter end of Autumn.’ During that time, could J not 
teach you to read ? ” 


10 * 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


226 

“ At fifty years of age, Charbtte!” and the poor widow smiled 
at the enthusiasm of her child. 

“ And why not, mother ? ” said Charlotte, camly. It would 
be a great comfort to you, during the long, lonely hours you pass 
in bed ; the thing may appear difficult, but I assure you that it is 
not impossible.’’ 

“ And then your weak state ; think how it would fatigue you, 
my dear child.” 

“ So far from that, mother, it would afford me the greatest dO' 
light;” and the sick girl clasped her thin, wasted hands together, 
and looked upward with an expression of gratitude and love beam- 
ing on her pale, placid face. 

“Well, I will try to please you, my dear Charlotte,” said Doro- 
thy, whose breast was thrilled to its inmost core by the affectionate 
solicitude which that glance of angelic benevolence conveyed to her 
heart ; “ but you will find me so stupid that you will soon give it 
ap as a bad job.” 

“ With God all things are possible,” said Charlotte, reveren- 
tially. “With His blessing, mother, we will begin to-morrow.” 

It was a strange but beautiful sight* to see that dying girl lying 
in the same bed instructing her helpless mother — a sight which 
drew tears from sterner eyes than mine. And virtue triumphed 
over obstacles which at first appeared insurmountable. Before 
death summoned the good daughter to a better world, she had the 
inexpressible joy of hearing her mother read distinctly to her 
Christ’s Sermon on the Mount. As the old woman concluded her 
delightful task, the grateful Charlotte exclaimed gently, in a sort 
of ecstasy — “Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace.” Her 
prayer was granted ; and a few minutes after, this good and faith- 
ful disciple entered into the joy of her Lord. 

This event, though long expected by Dorothy Grimshawe, was 
felt with keen anguish. The tuneful voice was silent that day and 
night for many weeks had spoken peace to her soul. The warm 
young heart was still, that had so ardently hoped and prayed for 
her salvation, that had solved her doubts and strengthened her waver- 
ing faith ; and to whom now could she turn for comfort and conso- 
lation ? To Mary, whispered the voice in her soul ; but Mary was 
absent during the greater part of the day, and Sophy was too busy 


f This touching scene was witnessed by the Author. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


221 


with her . yii affairs to pay much attention to her heart-broken 
parent. 

But deep as was the mother’s grief for the loss of her dutiful 
child, the sorrow of the poor hunchback for this her beloved sister, 
who had been the idolized pet of her joyless childhood, was greater 
still. Worn down with an incurable disease, Mrs. Grimshawe 
looked forward to a speedy reunion with the departed ; but years 
of toil and suffering might yet be reserved for the patient creature, 
who never was heard to murmur over her painful lot. 

The death of the young Charlotte, the peacemaker, the com- 
forter and monitor to the rest of the household, was as if her good 
angel had departed, and the sunshine of heaven had been dimmed 
by her absence. 

“ Oh, my sister !” she murmured, in the depths of her soul, “ thou 
wert justly dear to all ; but oh I how dear to me ! No one on 
earth loved the poor hunchback, or could read the lauguage of her 
heart, like you. To others dumb and uncouth, to you my voice 
was natural ; for it spoke to you of feelings and hopes which you 
alone could understand.” 

Mrs. Mason scolded and grumbled that, for weeks after Char- 
lotte’s death, Mary Grimshawe performed her daily tasks with less 
alacrity, and wandered to and fro like one in a dream. Sometimes 
the pent-up anguish of her heart found a vent in sad and unintel- 
ligible sounds — “ A gibberish,” her mistress said, “ that was enough 
to frighten all the customers from the house.” 

Mary had other causes of annoyance to grieve and perplex her, 
independent of the death of her sister. For some weeks past, the 
coarse, dissolute Robert Mason had shown a decided preference for 
her sister Sophy, whom he proclaimed, in her hearing, to his bad 
associates, “to be the prettiest gal in the neighborhood — the only 
gal that he cared a bit for, or deemed worth a fellow’s thoughts. 
But then,” he added, carelessly, and with an air of superiority 
which galled Mary not a little, “ the wench was poor — too poor 
for him. He wanted some ’un with lots of tin, that would enable 
him to open a good public-house in town.” 

Mary, as she listened, secretly blessed God that they were poor, 
while the ruffian continued : 

“ His mother, the old jade, would never consent to his marrying 
one so much beneath him. If she only suspected him of casting a 
sheep’s eye at Sophy Grimshawe, she would set marks on the gal’s 


228 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


face that would spoil her beauty. But if the gal had not been so 
decidedly poor, he would please himself, without asking Mammy’s 
leave, he could tell her.” 

His coarse comrades received his disrespectful insubordination to 
his mother’s authority as an excellent joke, while Mary inly shud- 
dered at his indelicate avowal of his liking for her sister, which 
filled her mind with a thousand indefinite fears. 

Sophy, of late, had been able to obtain but little work in the 
neighborhood ; she was silent and dejected, and murmured con- 
stantly against her poverty, and the want of every comfort that 
could render life tolerable. Sometimes she talked of going into 
service, but against this project, so new from her mouth, her mother 
objected, as she had no one else during the day to wait upon her, 
or speak to her. More generally, however, she speculated upon 
some wealthy tradesman making her his wife, and placing her at 
once above want and work. 

“ I care not,” she would say, “ how old or ugly he might be, if he 
would only take me out of this, and make a lady of me.” 

Mary shook her head, and tried, in hoarse ejaculations, to express 
her disapprobation of such an immoral avowal of sentiments she 
could but regard with horror ; while she fixed upon her sister those 
piercing eyes, which seemed to look into her very soul — those eyes 
which, gleaming through fast-falling tears, made the vain girl shiver 
and turn away. 

“ Sophy,” said Mrs. Grimshawe, gravely — for the remark was 
made one evening, by her mother’s bed-side — ‘‘ Mary cannot speak 
her thoughts, but I understand her perfectly, and can speak them 
for her, and would seriously ask you, if you think it a crime to sell 
your soul for money.” 

“ Certainly not ; I would do anything to get rid of the weary 
life I lead. All day chained down to my needle, and all night kept 
awake by the moans of the sick. At eighteen years of age, is it 
not enough to drive me mad ?” 

“ It is what the Lord has been pleased to appoint — a heavy bur- 
den, doubtless, but meant for your good. Look at Mary ; her lot 
is harder than yours, yet she never repines.” 

Sophy fiashed a scornful look at her sister, as she replied — 

“ Mary is not exposed to the same temptations. Nature has 
placed her beyond them. 1 am handsome, and several years 
younger than her. She is deformed, and has a frightful impedi- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


229 


ment in her speech, and is so plain that no one could fall in love 
with her, or wish to make her a wife. Men think her hideous, but 
they do not laugh at her for being poor and shabby as they do at 
me.’* 

This -peech was made under the influence of vehement passion, 
and was concluded with a violent burst of tears. 

Her cruel words inflicted a deep wound in the heart of the poor 
deformed girl. For the first time she felt degraded in her own 
eyes ; and the afflictions under which she labored seemed disgrace- 
ful ; and she wished she had been deaf as well as unintelligible. 
But these feelings, so foreign to her nature, were of short duration ; 
after a brief but severe mental struggle, she surmounted her just 
resentment, and forgave her thoughtless sister for the unmerited 
reproach. Wiping the tears from her pale, dark cheeks, she 
smoothed the pillows for her sick mother, and murmured with a 
sigh — “Lord, it was Thy hand that made me as I am; let me 
not rebel against Thy will.** 

The old woman was greatly excited by Sophy’s unworthy con- 
duct. With a great effort she raised herself nearly upright in her 
bed, gazing sternly upon her rebellious child. 

“ Mary, my darling !** she cried, at last, when she saw the deform- 
ed vainly striving to control the emotion which convulsed her whole 
frame — “ bear with patience the sinful reproaches of this weak, vain 
girl. The time will come when she will be severely punished for 
her cruelty and injustice. It would be well for her if the image of 
her God were impressed upon her soul as it is upon yours, my good, 
dutiful child. The clay perishes, but that which gives value to the 
clay shall flourish in immortal youth and beauty, when the heavens 
shall be no more. ‘ Then shall the righteous shine forth like the 
sun ’ — Ah, me ! I have forgotten the rest of the text, but you, Mary, 
know it well ; let it console you, my dear girl, and dry these useless 
tears. I was pretty, like Sophy, once, and, like her, I thought too 
highly of myself. Look at me now. Look at these wrinkled, care- 
worn cheeks — these wasted, useless limbs ; are they not a lesson to 
human pride and vanity ? I never knew my real character until I 
knew grief. Sorrow has been blessed to my soul, for had I never 
tasted the cup of affliction, I had never known the necessity of a 
Saviour. May his peace and blessing Ibrtify your heart to endure 
every trial which his wisdom may appoint, my poor afflicted lamb !” 

Sophy’s heart was softened by her mother’s pass.’onate appeal 


230 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Heartily ashamed of herself, she approached nearer to her weeping 
sister, 

“ Mary,” she faultered, in a tone of deep self-reproach, “ I did 
not mean to vex you. I know that you are better than me, and 
you must not take so to heart my wild words ; I am miserable and 
unhappy ; I do not always know what I say.” 

The eyes of the sisters met ; Sophy flung her arms about Mary's 
neck and kissed her. 

“ You forgive me, Mary ?" 

The hunchback smiled through her tears — and such a smile — so 
eloquent — so full of love and grateful affection, that Sophy felt she 
was more than forgiven. 

“Why are you unhappy, Sophy?” asked Mrs. Grimshawe, seiz- 
ing the favorable moment to make a more lasting impression on 
her mind. 

“ Because we are so poor.” 

“We have endured many evils worse than poverty.” 

“ None, none. That one word comprises them all. To be hun- 
gry, shabby, despised ; and you wonder that my soul rebels against 
it ?” 

“ Are not unkind words and reproaches more hard to bear ?” 

Sophy hung her head, and was silent. 

“ Mary would eat dry bread for a week, and be cheerful and 
resigned, and wear a coarse, shabby garment, without shedding a 
single tear. These are hardships, my girl ; but they do not affect 
the heart, or cause one pang of remorse. But, seriously, Sophy, 
do you think that you would improve your present condition, or 
render yourself happier, by marrying a man you did not love, for 
money?” 

“ Yes.” This was said emphatically. 

“ Oh, do it not, my child ! It is a great sin to enter into a 
solemn covenant, and swear at God’s holy altar to love and honor 
and obey a man for whom you have neither affection nor respect. 
No blessing from God can follow such an union. Nature would 
assert her rights, and punish you severely for having broken her 
laws.” 

“Nonsense, mother! The thing is done every day, and I see 
none of these evil results. Johanna Carter married old George 
Hughes for his money, and they live very comfortably together. 
[ will accept^ like her, the first good offer that comes in my way.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


231 


Mary writhed, and tried for some time to make her thoughts 
audible : at last she succeeded in gasping out — 

“ Kobert Mason ! — not him — not him !” 

“ Robert Mason ! What, Bully Bob ? Does he admire me ? 
Well, Mary, I will quiet your apprehensions by assuring you that 
the regard is not mutual. And what would the old witch his 
mother say ?’’ 

“ Let her never have it to say, that her bad son married Daniel 
Grimshawe’s daughter,” said Dorothy, indignantly. 

Oh, but I should like to plague that old fiend, by letting her 
imagine that I encouraged her son. She has always something 
spiteful to say to me. It would be rare fun to torment her a little. 
I will be very sweet to Master Bob for the time to come.” 

Mary caught her arm, and looked imploringly in her face. 

“ So you are afraid of my marrying Bob Mason ? What foolish 
women you are ! He is not rich enough for me — a drunken 
spendthrift ! When I sell my soul for money, as mother calls my 
getting a rich husband, it shall be to one who is better able to 
pay for it.” 

And in high spirits the hitherto discontented grumbler undressed 
and retired to bed, leaving Mary to pray for her during the greater 
part of the night, to entreat God to forgive her volatile sister, and 
make her sensible of her sin. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE GHOST. 

A SHORT time after this conversation took place by the sick-bed 
of Dorothy Grimshawe, a report got abroad that the road between 

the town of and C churchyard was haunted by the 

ghost of old Mason, the apparition of that worthy having been 
seen and spoken to by several of his old friends and associates, 
who had frequented the “ Brig’s Foot” during his occupation of 
it, and to whom his person was well known. The progress of the 
stage coach had been several times stopped by the said ghost, the 
horses frightened, the vehicle overturned, and several of the pas- 
sengers seriously injured. Those who retained their senses boldly 
affirmed that they had seen the spectre — that it was old Mason 


232 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


and n ) mistake — a man so remarkable for his ill-looks in life, that 
even in death they could not be forgotten. These tales, whether 
true or false, were generally believed among the lower classes, and 
were the means of bringing a great influx of guests to the “ Brig’s 
Foot.” All the idlers in the town flocked hither after the night 
had closed in, to ask questions, and repeat what they had heard 
during the day about the ghost. 

Martha Mason looked sourly on her new customers, and 
answered all their questions regarding her departed husband with 
an abrupt, “ What concern is it of yours what the man was like ? 
He is dead. I know nothing about him now ; nor do I want ^to 
know. I don’t believe one word of your foolish lies.” 

One circumstance struck Mary as very singular : young Mason 
was always absent of an evening, and seldom returned before day- 
break, particularly on those nights when the coach from N 

was expected to pass that road, which was only twice during the 
week. This was the more remarkable, as he had always been the 
foremost in the scenes of riot and misrule that were constantly 
enacted beneath that roof. When he did make his appearance, he 
was unusually sober, and repeated all the pranks performed by the 
ghost as an excellent joke, mimicking his looks and actions amid 
loud bursts of indecent laughter, to the no small horror of his su- 
perstitious guests. 

“ What do the ghost look like. Bob ?” asked Joshua Spilman, 
an honest laborer, who had stepped in to drink his pint of ale and 
hear the news ; and having tarried later than his wont, was afraid 
to return home. I never seed a ghost in all my born days.” 

“ Why, man, ghosts, like owls, only come abroad of a night, 
and you have little chance of having your curiosity gratified dur- 
ing the day. But if you are very anxious to see one, and are not 
afraid of leaving the chimney corner, and stepping out into the 
dark, just go with me to the mouth of the Gipsy lane, and look 
for yourself. It was there the old ’un appeared last night, and 
there most likely he’ll be to-night again.” 

“ The Lord ha* mercy upon us. Do you think. Bob, I’d put 
myself in the way of the ghost ? I would not go there by mysel* 
for all the world.” 

It would not hurt you.” 

“ Not hurt I ? Sure it broke the leg of Dick Simmons, when 
it sheared the h :sses, and overturned the coach last Monday nights 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


233 


rd rather keep myself in a whole skin. But when you seed it» 
Bob, worn’t you mortal feared V* 

Not I.” 

“ An’ did you speak to ’un ?” 

“ Ah, to be sure. Do you think I’d run away from my own 
dad ? ‘ Old boy,’ says I, ‘ is that you ? How are you getting on 

below ?’ He shakes his head, and glowers at me, ’an his one eye 
looked like a burning coal. 

“ ‘ You’ll know one day,’ says he. 

“ ‘ That’s pleasant news,’ says I. ‘ You’ll be sure to give me a 
warm welcome at any rate. There’s nothing like having a friend 
at head-quarters.’ When he saw that I was not afraid of him, he 
gave a loud screech and vanished, leaving behind him a most infer- 
nal stench of brimstone, which I smelt all the way from the cross- 
road as far as the bridge. He had got his answer, and I saw no 
more of him for that night. 

Josh thrust his chair back to the wall, and drawing a long breath, 
gazed upon the reprobate with a strange mixture of awe and terror 
in his bewildered countenance. 

“ Why, man, an’ my feather had said sic like words to me, I 
should have gone stark, staring mad with fear and sheame.” 

“ The shame should be all on his side then,” quoth the incorrigi- 
ble Bob. “ J did not make him the bad man he was, though he 
made me. He was always an ugly fellow, and the scorching he has 
got down there (and he pointed significantly to the ground) has not 
improved his looks. But mother would know him in a minute.” 

“ I never want to see your father again, Robert,” said Martha, 
doggedly ; “ so you need not address any such impertinent remarks 
to me. I had enough of his company here. I don’t know why he 
should leave his grave to haunt me after his death.” 

“ For the love he bore you while on earth,” said the dutiful son, 
glancing round the group with a knowing look. Dad is sure of a 
kind reception from you, mother.” 

“ The day he was buried,” said Martha, “was the only happy 
one I had known for twenty years, and you know it well. One of 
his last acts was to make me a cripple for life.” 

“ How did he come by his death. Mother Mason ?” asked a 
young sailor, Tom Weston by name. 

“ He was killed in a row with the smugglers,” said Bob. “ Ha 
had helped them to land some brandy, and they wanted to cheat him 


234 


•FLORA LYNDSAY. 


out of his pay. Father had lots of pluck. He had lost an eye once 
before in such a frolic. He attacked the whole band single handed 
and got knocked on the head in the scuffle. The smugglers ran 
away, and left mother to bury the dead.” 

“ He only got what he deserved,” muttered Martha. It is a 
pity he did not get it twenty years before. But he is gone to his 
place, and I am determined to keep mine. A ghost has no legal 
claim to the property of the living, and he shall never get posses- 
sion of this house, living or dead, again.” 

“ But suppose, Martha, he should take it into his head to haunt 
it, and make it too hot to hold you,” said Tom Weston, “ what 
would you do then’?” 

“ I think I know a secret or two that would lay the ghost,” re- 
turned Martha ; and hobbling across the kitchen on her crutch, she 
lifted down an old horse-pistol that was suspended to one of the low 
cross-beams, and wiping the dust from it with her apron, she care- 
fully examined the lock. 

“ ’I’his should speak my welcome to all such unwelcome intruders^ 
It has released more than one troublesome spirit from its clay tene- 
ment, and I have no doubt that it would be found equally efficacious 
in quieting others — that is if they have the audacity to try their 
strength againgst me ;” and she glanced disdainfully at her son from 
beneath her bushy, lowering brows. ‘‘ This brown dog is old, but 
he can still hark and bite 

How vicious mother looks !” said Bob, with a loud laugh. 

It would require a ghost with some pluck to face her.” 

“ What time did the spectre appear last night ?” said Tom Wes- 
ton, who saw that mischief was brewing, and was anxious to turn 
the subject into another channel. “ I should like amazingly to 
see it.” 

“ That’s all bosh !” said Bob. “ You would soon cut and run. 
But if you are in earnest, come with me to the cross-road, and I 
promise to introduce you to the old gentleman. The clock has just 
struck eleven ; he will be taking his rounds by the time we get 
th«re.” 

The young man drew back. “ Not in your company. Mason. 
It would be enough to raise the devil.” 

“ Well, ple^e yourself. “ I knew yon would funk out. I shall 
go, however. I want to have a few minutes’ conversation with the 
ghost before he appears in public. Perhaps he will show me where 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


235 


to find a hidden treasure. G-ood-bye, mother; shall I give your 
compliments to the old gentl ^man ? Love, I know, is out of the 
question. You had none to spare for him when he was alive.” 

“ Away with you for a blasphemous rebrobate that you are !” 
cried the angry old woman, shaking her crutch at him. 

“ Mammy’s own darling son !” cried the disgusting wretch, as, 
with a loud oath, he sprang through the open door and vanished 
into the dark night. 

The men looked significantly at each other, and a little tailor 
rose cautiously and shut the door. 

“ Why do you do that ?” said Tom Weston. 

“To keep out bad company.” 

“ It is stifling hot !” cried Tom, kicking it open with his foot. 
“ I shall die without a whifif of fresh air.” 

“ But the ghost?” and the little tailor shook his head myste- 
riously. 

“ Does not belong to any of us,” rejoined Tom. “ My relations 
are all sound sleepers ; good, honest people, who are sure to rest 
in their graves. There is a storm brewing,” he continued, walk- 
ing to the open door ; “ that thunder-cloud will burst over our 
heads in a few minutes, and Master Bob will get a good drench- 
ing.” 

“ Its awsome to hear him talk as he do of his feather’s spirit,” 
said honest Josh. “ It makes my flesh creep upon my bones.” 

“ Provided there’s any truth in his statements,” said a carpenter, 
who had been smoking his pipe by the table, and silently listening 
to the conversation — “ which I much doubt. For my own part I 
would be more afraid of meeting Robert Mason alone in that dark 
lane, than any visitant from another world. I don’t believe in 
ghosts. I never saw one, and I never met with any person, on 
whose word you could attach much credit, that could satisfactorily 
prove to you that he had : when you pushed him hard, it always 
came out that he was not the person who had seen it ; but some 
one else who had related the tale to him, and he had every reason 
to believe it true. The farther you searched into the matter, the 
more indistinct and improbable the story became.” 

“ Ay, Bill Corbett ; but you heard Bob declare that he has both 
Been and spoken to it, and the lad m ist know his own father.” 

“ I don’t take for gospel what I hear Bob say ; I don’t believe 
one word of the st wy — no, not if he was to swear to the trnth of 


236 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


it upon the Bible,” said the carpenter, waxing warm. Before Tom 
Weston could reply, a loud peal of thunder burst suddenly over 
their heads, and the room was so vividly lighted up by the electric 
flash that preceded it, that Mary, who was intently listf .ning to the 
conversation, rose from her seat with a loud scream. 

“ By the living Jingo ! what’s that?” cried the laborer, starting 
to his feet, while the pipe he was smoking fell from his nerveless 
grasp and shivered to atoms on the hearth. 

“ Pshaw !” said Tom Weston, recovering from the sudden tremor 
which had seized him, “ ’tis only the poor dummy. 1 thought the 
gal had been deaf as well as dumb.” 

“ Why, man, the dead in their graves might ha 'e heard that !” 
said the terror stricken J osh. 

He had scarcely ceased speaking, when Sophy Giimshawe sprang 
into the room — her eyes fixed and scaring, and her usually rosy 
cheeks livid with fear. “ The thunder,” she gasped, “ the dreadful 
thunder !” and would have fallen to the ground, had not Tom 
Weston caught her in his arms. The unexpected sight of such a 
beautiful apparition, seemed to restore the young man’s presence 
of mind. He placed her in a chair, while the little tailor bustled 
up to get a glass of cold water, with which he copiously bathed 
her face and hands. In a few minutes her limbs ceased to tremble, 
and opening her eyes, she glanced timidly round her. The first 
object that encountered her gaze, was the scornful, fiendlike face of 
Mrs. Mason, scowling upon her. 

“ So,” she said, sneeringly, you make the thunder a pretext for 
showing your painted doll’s face to the fellows here. Your mother 
would do well to keep you at home.” 

Mother was asleep, and she is not afraid of thunder like me. 
When that dreadful flash of lightning came, I dared not stay alone 
in the house.” 

“ Are you a bit safer, think you, here?” sneered the witch-like 
woman. “ It was monstrous kind of you to leave your poor old 
mother exposed to danger, while you run away from it like a cow- 
ard ! A bad excuse, however, I’ve heard, is better than none. In 
youi case I think it worse.” 

“ I did not think of that,” said Sophy, with unaffected simplicity, 
rising to go. “ Mother never cares for it, but it makes me tremble 
from head to foot, and almost drives me beside myself. I can’t telJ 
why, but it has always been so with me since I was a little child. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


23t 


As she finished speaking, another long protracted peal of thun- 
der rolled through the heavens and shook the house, and Sophy 
sank down gasping in her chair. The handsome young sailor was 
at her side with a glass of ale. 

Never mind that cross old woman, my dear ; she scolds and 
rules us all. Take a sup of this — it will bring the roses back to 
your cheeks. Why, you are as pale as the ghost we were talking 
of when you came in.” 

“ Oh, I’m such a coward I” sobbed Sophy. “ Ah, there it comes 
again — the lightning will blind me !’^ — and she shrieked and threw 
her apron over her head, as another terrific peal burst solemnly 
above them. “ I would rather see twenty ghosts than hear the 
like ol' that again. Did not you feel the earth shake ?” 

“Now for the rain !” cried the little tailor, as a few heavy drops 
first splashed upon the door-sill ; then there was the rush and roar 
of a hurricane, and the water burst from the skies in torrents, 
streaming over the door-sill, and beating through the chinks in the 
ill-glazed windows. 

“ Shut the door, man I can’t you?” vociferated Tom Weston to 
the tailor. “ The rain pours in like a flood, and it will give the 
young lady cold.” 

“ PuK)r, delicate creature!” said Martha; “as if a few drops 
of ra’ could hurt the like o’ her !” 

As ,he tailor rose to shut the door, two men, bearing a heavy 
burt^ an between them, filled up the vacant space. All eyes were 
turned upon the strangers, as, through the howling wind and rush- 
ing rain, they bore into the room and placed upon the floor 
a man struggling in a fit of epilepsy. 

“Well, measter, how is it with ’un?” said the foremost, who 
was a stout, rosy fellow from the laboring class. 

No answer was returned to the inquiry made in a kindly tone. 
The person thus addressed still continued writhing in convulsions, 
and perfectly unconscious of his own identity, or of that of any 
person around him. 

“ Put a tablespoonful of salt into his mouth, man,” said Corbett, 
the carpenter; “ that will bring him to, if Anything will.” 

The simple, but powerful remedy was promptly administered by 
Mary, and after some minutes, the paroxysms of the disorder grew 
less violent, and the sick man, with a heavy groan, unclosed his 
large, dark eyes, and gaz'id vacantly around him — his teeth still 


238 


FLORA LYNDSAY, 


chattering, and his muscular limbs trembling like one in an ague 
fit. 

Courage, measter,” said the laborer, giving him a friendly slap 
on the shoulder. “ There’s nought that can hurt thee here. See, 
the fire burns cheerfully, and ’tis human creturs an’ friends that 
are about thee.” 

“ Is it gone,” groaned the prostrate form, closing his eyes, as if 1 
to shut out some frightful apparition — “ gone for ever ?” 1 

Ay, vanished clean ^iway into the black night.” ' 

“ What did he see?” cried a chorus of eager voices ; and every 
one in the room crowded round the fallen man. 

“ He seed old Mason’s ghost on the bridge,” said the laborer, 

“ an’ I seed it too. An ugsome-looking cretur it wor, an’ I wor 
mortal sheared ; howdsomever, when measter screeched an’ fell, I 
forgot to look on ’un agin, I wor so sheared about ’un. This good 
man coin’d along, as luck wud ha’ it, and helped me to carry ’un 
in here. For my part, I thought as how Measter Noah was dead ; 
an’ as he owed me four pounds an’ three shillins for my harvestin’ 
with ’un, an’ I had no writin’ to show for it, I thought it wud be a 
bad job for me an’ the fam’ly.” 

“ True, neibor,” said the other bearer, sententiously ; ‘‘ the 
sight of the ghost wor nothin’ to that.” 

“ And did the ghost speak to you?” said the little tailor. 

“ Na, na, I b’leeve that them gentry from the other world are 
sworn over by Satan to hold their tongues, an’ never speak unless 
spoken to. Howdsomever, this ghost never said a word ; it stood 
by centre arch o’ bridge, wrapped up in a winding sheet, that flick- 
ered all over like moonlight ; an’ it shook ter heed, an glowered on 
us with two fiery eyes as big as saucers, an’ then sunk down an' 
vanished.” 

“ Oh, it was him — him !” again groaned forth the terror-stricken 
man, rising to a sitting posture. “ He looked just as he did, that 
night — that night we found him murdered !” 

“ Of whom do you speak. Master Cotton?” said the little tailor 

“ Of Squire Carlos.” 

“ Squire Carlos ! Did the ghost resemble him ? He has been 
dead long enough to sleep in peace in his grave. It is more than 
twenty years agone since he was murdered by that worthless scamp 
Bill Martin. I was but a slip of a lad then. I walked all the waj 


FLORA LYNLSAr. 


239 


from to Ipswich, to see him Lung. How came you to thinu 

of him ?” 

“ It was him, or some demon in his shape,” said Noah Cotton — 
for it was the hero of my tale — how able to rise and take the chair 
that the gossiping little tailor offered him. “ If ever I saw Mr. 
Carlos in life, I saw his apparition on the bridge to-night.” 

“ A man should know his own father,” mused the tailor ; ‘‘ and 
yet here is Bob Mason takes the same appearance for the ghostly 
resemblance of his own respectable progenitor. There is some 
strange trickery in all this.” 

‘‘ What the dickens should bring the ghost of Squire Carlos so 
far from his own parish ? He wor shot in his own preserves by 
Bill Martin. I mind the circumstance quite well. A good man 
w^or the old Squire, but over-particular about his game. If I 
mistake not, you be Measter Noah Cotton, whose mother lived up 
at the porter’s lodge ?” 

N oah nodded assent, but he didn’t seem to relish these questions 
and reminiscences of the honest laborer, while Josh, delighted to 
hear his tongue run, continued — 

“ I kind o’ ’spect you’ve forgotten me. Mister Cotton. I used 
to work in them days at Farmer Humphrey’s, up Wood-lane. 
You "have grow’d an old-looking man since I seed you last You 
were young and spry enough then. I didna’ b’leeve the tales that 
volk did tell of ’un — that you were the Squire’s own son. But 
you be as loike him now as two peas. The neebors wor right, 
arter all.” 

The stranger winced, and turned pale. 

“ They say as how you’ve grow’d a rich man yoursel’ since that 
time. Is the old ’uman, your mother, livin’ still ?” 

“ She is dead,” said Noah, turning his back abruptly on the 
interrogator, and addressing himself to the mistress of the house. 

“ Mrs. Mason, I have been very ill. I feel better, but the fit 
has left me weak and exhausted. Can you give me a bed and a 
room to myself, where I could sleep the effects of it quietly off?” 

“ My beds are engaged,” was the curt reply of the surly dame 
“ Pray, how long have you been subject to those fits?” 

“ For several years. Ever since I had the typhus fever And 
now the least mental anxiety brings them on.” 

“ So it appears. Particularly the sight of an old friend when 


240 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


least expected. This is strange and she smiled significantly 

for he was, both living and dead, a kind friend to you.” 

“ He was, indeed,” sighed the stranger. “ It was not until aftei 
I lost him, that I knew how much I was indebted to him.” Then 
suddenly turning from her, he looked steadfastly towards the open 
door. ‘‘ It rains cats and dogs, mother ; you surely cannot refuse 
me a bed on such a night ?” 

I have already told you, I have no bed to spare. To speak 
the plain truth,” she added, with a grim smile, “ I don’t like your 
hang-dog face, and want none of your company. If you’re afraid 
of a shadow, you are either a great coward or a big fool. I 
despise both characters. If not, you are a designing rogue, and 
enough of such folks come here every night.” 

“ I will pay you well for the accommodation,” urged Noah, 
without noticing or resenting Martha’s malignant speech. 

“ Mother, he be as rich as a Jew,” whispered Josh, in her ear. 

The hint, disregarded by Mrs. Mason, was not unheeded by 
Sophy Grrmshawe, who, gliding across the room, said, in a soft, 
persuasfVe voice : “ Mr. Cotton, if you will step into the next 
house, I will give you my bed for the night.” 

“ The bold hussy !” muttered Martha. 

“ Is it far to go?” and Noah shuddered, as he glanced into the 
black night. 

Only a step ; just out of one door into the other. If you be 
afraid,” she continued, looking up into his gloomy but handsome 
face with an arch smile, “ I will protect you. I am afraid of thun- 
der, but not of ghosts. Come along; depend upon it, we shall not 
see anything worse than ourselves.” 

“There’s many a true word spoken at random,” said Martha, 
glancing after the twain, as the door closed upon them. “ I’ll bet 
all I’m worth in the world that that fellow is not afraid of nothing ; 
he’s troubled with a bad conscience. He’s a hateful, unlucky - 
looking wretch ! I’m glad that bold girl relieved me of his com- 
pany.” 

“ Martha,” said Josh, “ you’re far wrong this time. Noah Cot- 
ton do bear an excellent character ; an’ then he has lots o’ cash.” 
This circumstance, apparently, gave him great importance in the 
poor man’s eyes. “ That Squire Carlos, who wor murdered by 
Bill Martin, left in his will a mort o’ money to Noah Cotton. 
People dew say that he wor his son.” 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


241 


“ A. likely story, that. !” cried the woman, tossing up her head. 

* He is very like the Squire, at any rate,” said the little tailor. 
** I knew him for several years, and always found him a decent, 
quiet fellow — rather proud, and fond of dressing above his rank, 
perhaps ; but then, he always paid his tailor’s bill like a gentle- 
man. Indeed, many that I make for, who call themselves gentlemen, 
might take pattern by him. He was a very handsome young fel- 
low in those days — tall, straight, and exceedingly well made ; as 
elastic and supple as an eel, and was the best cricket-player in the 
county. I don’t know what can have come across Noah, that 
he looks so gaunt and thin, and is such an old man before his time. 
He has been given to those terrible fits ever since he made one 
of the party that found the body of Mr. Carlos. It’s no wonder ; 
for he loved the Squire, and the Squire was mortal fond of him. 
He became very religious after he got that shock, and has been 
a very strict Methodist ever since.” 

“ He’s not a bit the better for that,” said Martha. “ The great 
est sinners stand in need of the longest prayers. I thought that l^e 
had been a Methodist parson, by the cut of his jib. Where, my 
lads,” turning to the two men who had brought him in, “did you 
pick the fellow up ?” 

“ Why, do you see, mistress, that I’ve been a harvesting with ’un, 
an’ he tuk me in the taxed cart with ’un to the bank, to get change 
to pay me my wages. Going into town this morning, the boss got 
sheared by some boys playing at ball. The ball struck the beast 
plump in the eye, an’ cut it so shocking bad, that measter left ’un 
with the boss doctor, and proposed for us to walk home in the cool 
o’ the evening, as the distance is only eight miles or thereabouts. 
Before we starts home, he takes me to the Crown Inn, and treats 
me to a pot of ale, an’ while there he meets with some old acquaint- 
ance, who was telling him how he knew his father, old Noah, in 
’Mericky ; an’ how he had died very rich, an’ left his money to a 
wife he had there, that he never married. An’ I thought as how 
.iieiister didn’t much like the news, as his father, it seems, had left 
nim nothing — not even his blessing. Well, ’twas nigh upon twelve 
o’clock when we started. ‘ You’d better stay all night, measter,’ 
says I ; ‘ ’tis nigh upon morning.’ ‘ Sam Smith,’ says he, ‘ I can- 
not sleep out o’ my own bed and off we sets. On the bridge we 
heerd the first big clap o’ thunder ; the next minute we sor tlift 
ghost, and my measter gives a screech which might have roused 

11 


242 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


old Squire Carlos from tlit dead, and straight fell down in a fit 
The ghost vanished in the twinkling of an eye ; an’ I met this good 
man, who helped me to bring Noah up here. He’s a kindmeaster, 
Noah Cotton, but a wonderful timersome man. I’ve heerd him, 
when we’ve been at work in the fields, start at the shivering of an 
aspen leaf, and cry out, ‘Sam ! what’s that?’ ” 

“ Did not Noah say summat about having lost his yellow can- 
vas bag with his money ?” asked the other man ; “ and that the 
ghost laid hold on him with a hand as cold as ice ?” 

“ What, did a’ ?” and Sam Smith opened his large, round eyes, 
and distended his wide, good-natured mouth, with a look of blank 
astonishment. 

“ If the ghost robbed Noah Cotton of his canvas bag, that was 
what no living man could do !” cried Bob Mason, bursting into the 
room, and cutting sundry mad capers round the floor. “ Hurrah 
for the ghost !” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE PROPOSAL. 

We will now step into the widow Grimshawe’s cottage, and see 
how Sophy disposed of her guest. 

The lower room was in profound darkness, and the little semp- 
stress bade her companion stay at the door while she procured a 
light from the rush-candle that always burned in her mother’s 
chamber above. 

“ Do not leave me in the dark !” he cried, in a voice of childish 
terror, and clutching at her garments. I dare not be alone !” 

“ Nonsense ! There are no ghosts here. I will not be gone an 
instant.” 

“ Let me go with you.” 

“ What ! to my sick mother’s bed-room ? That cannot be. 
Perhaps,” she continued, not a little astonished at his extreme 
timidity, “ the ashes may still be alive in the grate. I think I 
perceive a faint glimmer ; but you had better allow me to fetch a 
light from mother’s room ?” 

“Oh no ! not for the world. I beseech you to stay where you 
are.” 

Sophy knelt down by the hearth, and raking among the ashes. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


243 


succeeded at last in finding a live coal, which she blew into a 
blaze ; and lighting a candle she had left on the table, placed it 
before him. 

Her strange guest had sunk down into a large wooden arm-chair 
beside it, his head bent upon his clasped hands, his eyes shut, and 
tracas of tears upon his death-pale cheeks ; his lips were firmly 
compressed, and his countenance immovable and rigid. 

Sophy gazed long and. silently upon him. The sympathy of 
woman, be she good or bad, is always touched by the sight of a 
man’s tears. Sophy was selfish and vain — all her faults might be 
comprised under those two heads ; but she could not bear to wit- 
ness sorrow and suffering without trying to alleviate it, unless it 
demanded the sacrifice of some personal gratification that she 
wanted strength of mind to relinquish. 

The stranger had awakened her sympathy, which the knowledge 
that he was comparatively rich did not tend to diminish ; and she 
examined his countenance with a degree of interest and attention 
which hitherto had been foreign to her nature, who had never seen 
anything to love or admire beyond herself. 

For a person in his station, Noah Cotton was a remarkable 
man. His features were high and regular, his air and demeanor 
that of a gentleman, or rather of one who had been more used to 
mingle with gentlemen, than with the class to which his dress indi- 
cated him to belong. His age exceeded forty. His raven hair, 
that curled in close masses round his high temples, was thickly 
sprinkled with grey; his sallow brow deeply furrowed, but the 
lines were not those produced by sorrow, but care. He looked ill 
and unhappy ; and though his dress was of the coarse manufacture 
generally adopted by the small yeoman or farmer, his linen was fine 
and scrupulously clean ; in short, he was vastly superior to any of 
the men that frequented the “ Brig’s Foot.” 

You are ill,” said Sophy, laying her hand upon his shoulder, 
and speaking in a soft, gentle tone. “ Let me get you something 
to eat. I can give you some new bread, and a bowl of fresh 
milk.” 

Thank you, my kind girl,” he replied, unclosing his large, dark^ 
melancholy eyes, and regarding her neat little figure, and fair, girl- 
ish face, with fixed attention ; “ I am not hungry.” 

** Oh, do take a little.” And Sophy placed the simple contents 


244 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


of the cupboard on the table before him. “ It would give me real 
pleasure to see you eat.” 

“ Then I will try to please you.” 

But, after taking a draught of the milk, Noah pushed the bowl 
from him, and turning gloomily to the fire, which was now bright- 
ening into a ruddy glow, throwing cheerful red gleams to every 
distant corner of the room. 

“ And did you really see the ghost ?” asked Sophy, who was 
dying with curiosity to hear the tale from his own mouth. And 
she drew a low bench beside him, and gazed earnestly up into his 
face. “ I thought the stories about it were all humbug — a trick 
played off upon the public by that worthless scamp. Bob Mason.” 

The man started from his abstracted fit. 

“ Don’t speak of it now, my pretty maid. Let you and I talk 
of something else.” 

“ But I should like so to know all about it. You said, when 
you were coming to, out of that frightful fit, that it was the ghost 
of a Mr. Carlos.” 

“ Then I was a fool !” muttered Noah ; but, recovering himself, 
he said, “ I was one of the band of men who found the body of 
Squire Carlos, on the night he was murdered in his own planta- 
tion, by Bill Martin, a notorious smuggler and poacher. I was 
very young at the time ; the Squire had been a kind friend to me 
and my mother, and the horrid sight made such a powerful impres- 
sion on my mind that it almost deprived me of my senses, and it 
has haunted me ever since. I see him at all hours of the day, but 
most generally the vision comes before me at night, and produces 
these terrible fits. The doctors call it disease — I think it fate.” 

“ How dreadful !” and Sophy recoiled involuntarily a few paces 
from her guest. 

Thf‘re was a long silence. Sophy tried to shake off the chill 
that hxid fallen upon her heart, by vigorously poking the fire. At 
length she ventured a glance at her silent companion. He was 
looking down intently at her.” 

“ You seem pretty old,” she said, with that bluntness so common 
to uneducated people, and from which those above them wince in 
disgust — “are you married?” 

“ No, my dear ; a bachelor, at your service.” 

“ If you had a wife and children, they would cure you of these 
strange fancies.” 


FLORA ^YNDSAY. 


245 


** Do you really think so ?” 

I am sure of it.” 

.There was another long silence. 

Her companion heaved a deep, melancholy sigh, and his thoughts 
seemed to break out into words, without any intention on the part 
of their owner. 

“ I have plenty to keep both wife and children, and I would 
gladly marry to-morrow, if I thought any good woman would have 
me.” 

Sophy smiled, and looked down into her lap. She twisted the 
strings of her checked apron round her fingers, the apron itself into 
every possible shape. At length she started from her seat. 

Where are you going ?” cried the stranger, in a tone of alarm. 

To make you up a bed.” 

I would rather remain by the fire all night, if you will prom- 
ise to stay with me.” 

“ But my mother would wonder what had become of me. I 
must leave you, and go to bed.” 

Noah caught her little hand as she glided past him, and pulled 
her violently back — 

“ I will not part with you — you must stay.” 

** Bless me, how timid you are 1 How you shake and tremble ! 
I cannot understand this fear in a big man like you.” 

“ I should grow courageous if you were always by my side.” 

Perhaps you would soon be as much afraid of me as of the 
ghost,” said Sophy, looking up into his sad eyes with a playful 
smile. 

“ The ghost again ! But tell me, my pretty maid, have you a 
sweetheart ?” 

“ What girl of eighteen, who is not positively ugly, has not?” 
returned Sophy, evasively. 

“ But one whom you prefer to all others ?” 

“ I have never yet seen that fortunate individual.” 

“ And is there no one for whom you feel any particular liking?” 

*^None, I assure you.” 

Good,” said Noah, musingly. ** Have you a father ?” 

He was drowned in a -heavy gale, during the fishing season, 
some years ago.” 

“ A mother ?” 

“ Yes ; but she has been bed-ridden with the palsy ever since 


246 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


father died. Grief for his sudden loss brought it on. There are no 
hopes of her ever regaining the use of her limbs now.” 

“ Any brothers or sisters ?” 

One sister, the hunch-backed girl you saw in the next house ; 
the rest are all dead. I lost a young sister about six weeks ago. 
She was only sixteen years of age, and as good as she was beautiful. 
Every body loved and respected Charlotte, and she died so happily. 
It was well for her. I have often envied her since she left us. I 
never knew what an angel she was, until after we lost her.” 

Noah sighed again, and was silent for some minutes. At length 
he said — 

“ Is it only good people that die in peace ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Sophy. “ Charlotte was the only person I 
ever saw die ; and her last words to us I shall never forget. * Dear 
ones,’ she said, while a smile from heaven rested upon her lips, ‘ do 
not weep for me. These last moments of my life are the most joy- 
ful, the happiest I have ever known. I can now fully realize that 
peace which our blessed Kedeemer promised to all His faithful fol- 
lowers — a peace which surpasseth human understanding. May 
His peace and blessing rest upon you all.”.. 

Again Noah sighed, and covered his face with his hands, and re- 
mained so long in that attitude, that Sophy imagined he had fallen 
asleep. At length he raised his head, and said — 

“ Your father is dead, your mother infirm and old, your only sis- 
ter sickly and deformed, and yourself so young and pretty, with no 
brothers to protect or work for you — ^how do you contrive dear girl 
to maintain yourself and them ?” 

“ Alas ! we are very poor,” said Sophy, bursting into tears. “ I 
do all I can to supply the wants of the family. I have to work day 
and night, and Mary too, who has a cruel mistress, in order to earn 
our bread, yet we are often on the point of starvation ; both of ua 
are tasked beyond our strength — and I for one am heartily weary 
of my life.” 

‘^Dear child,” and Noah wound his arm about her waist, and 
kissed away the tears from her bright blue eyes — “ if you could love 
and cherish an old man — old at any rate to you, although barely 
turned of forty, I could give both you and your afflicted mother and 

sister a comfortable home. I have a pleasant cot lage at F , and 

fifty acres of good arable land, a horse and gig, six fine milch cows, 
and plenty of pigs and poultry, an income of two hundred per an- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


241 

num in the bank, which is increasing every year, simply because I 
have enough to supply my household without touching either capi- 
tal or interest. This property I will settle upon you at my death, 
if you will become my wife.” 

Sophy’s hand trembled in his. A bright crimson suffused her 
cheek, her heart leapt wildly within her breast ; but she could not 
find a word of answer. 

“ 1 have been a bachelor all my life,” continued Noah, “ and a 
dull, cheerless life it has been to me. I had a mother to take care 
of in her old age, and I loved her too well to place a wife over her, 
who had been so long the mistress of my home. She is only lately 
dead, and I feel lonely and sad without her. I have often thought 
that I could love a wife very much. I am sure I could love you 
What say you to it, my girl ? Is it to be a match ?” 

Sophy thought of the horse and gig, and the six cows, of the pigs 
and poultry, of the comfortable home ; and above all this, she hug- 
ged closely to her heart the £200 per annum that was to be hers, 
besides all the rest of the worldly goods and chattels at his death. 
She looked down upon her faded, shabby calico dress, and round 
upon the scantily furnished room, and thought of the cold, dark 
winter nights that were coming, and how ill-prepared they were to 
meet them. She remembered the days of toil, the nights of waking, 
watching beside the feverish bed of a querulous old woman, and 
she knew how fretful and impatient she was, and how her soul 
abhored the task ; and she turned her bright eyes to the face of her 
melancholy lover, and placed her small hand in his, and said in a 
low, soft voice, that was music to his heart — 

“ I will try to love you, and will be your wife, if you will only 
be kind to mother and Mary, and take us from this hateful place.” 

Transported with joy, he promised all that she asked. 

All night they sat by the fire, hand in hand, talking over their 
future prospects ; and the next morning Sophia introduced Noah 
Cotton to her mother and sister, as her future husband, and bade 
them rejoice in their altered fortunes. Human nature is full of 
strange contradictions, and it so happened that the mother and sis- 
ter did not rejoice ; and instead of approving of the match, they 
remonstrated vehemently against it. 

Sophy thought them foolish and ungrateful. She grew angry 
and remained obstinately fixed to her purpose and the aflair ended 
in a family rupture. 


248 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Mrs. Grimsbawe refused to live with Sophy, if she married Noah 
Cotton ; and Mary could not leave her mother. Mary, who was a 
shrewd observer of human character, was greatly struck with the 
scene she had witnessed in the public house. She did not like Noah 
Cotton. She suspected him to be a bad man, who was laboring 
under the pangs of remorse rather than of disease. She had com- 
municated these fears to her mother, and to this circumstance might 
be attributed her steady refusal to sanction a marriage so advan- 
tageous, in a pecuniary point of view, to them all. 

Sophy was determined to secure the rich husband, and have her 
own way ; and the very next week she became the wife of the 

wealthy farmer, and the newly-wedded pair left in a neat gig, 

to spend the honeymoon in Noah Cotton’s rural homestead, in 
the pretty parish of F . 


CHAPTER XXXYIII. 

THE DISCLOSURE. 

Twenty months passed away, and the young bride had never 
once been home to visit her old friends. Her mother grew more 
infirm and feeble every day, and pined sadly after her absent child ; 
and the tears were often upon Mary’s cheeks. Sophy’s act of wil- 
ful disobedience had been forgiven from the hour that the thought- 
less rebel had become a wife ; but her neglect rankled in the heart 
of both mother and sister. 

“ She has forgotten us quite,” said the ailing old woman. “The 
distance is not great. She might come, especially as her husband 
keeps a horse and chaise ; and what are ten miles after all ? I have 
often walked double that in my young day to see a friend, much 
more a mother and sister. Weil, I shall not be here long — I feel 
that. The day of my release will be a welcome one to me, and 
she will be sorry when I am gone that she neglected to come and 
see me. 

Now, though Dorothy Grimshawe, in her nervous, querulous 
state, grumbled over the absence of her daughter, she was never so 
dear to the heart of her faulty child as at the very time she com- 
plained of her neglect. 

Sophy Cotton never knew the real value of a mother's love until 
she felt upon her own shoulders the cares and responsibilities of a 


FLORA LYNUSAY. 


249 


House. She longed intensely to see her mother and Mary again, aa 
the nice presents of butter, ham, and eggs that she was constantly 
sending to , might have testified for her ; but there were pain- 

ful reasons that made a meeting with her mother and sister every- 
thing but desiraole to the young wife. 

She was changed since they parted. Her marriage had been 
contrary to their wishes ;iashe did not like that they should know 

all — but if she did not go over to in the chaise, she went 

nowhere else — never did the most loving bride keep more closely at 
home. 

Once Mrs. Grimshawe asked of her daughter’s messenger, a 
rough clodhopper, whom she had summoned to her bed-side in order 
to gratify her curiosity and satisfy her doubts, the reason of Mrs. 
Cotton’s long silence — “Was she well ?” 

“ Yes ; but she had lost her rosy-cheeks, and was- not so blithe 
as when she first came to the porched-house.” 

“Did her husband treat her ill ?” 

“ Na, na ; he petted her like a spoilt child ; yet she never seemed 
happy, or contented-like.” 

“ What made her unhappy then?” 

“ He could na’ just tell — women were queer creturs. Mayhap 
it was being an old man’s wife that fretted her, and that was but 
natural, seeing that a pretty young thing like her might have got 
a husband nearer her own age, which, for sartin, would ha’ been 
more to her taste.” 

“Was she likely to have any family?” 

“No signs o’ the like. It had na’ pleased the Lord to multi- 
ply Noah’s seed upon the earth.” 

“ Was he stingy ?” 

“ Na, na ; they had allers plenty to yeat. He was a kind meas 
ter, an’ good pay. There was only their two selves, and Mrs. 
Cotton was dressed like a lady, and had everything brave and new 
about her ; but she looked mortal pale and thin, an’ he b’lieved 
that she was in the consumption.” 

The man went his way, and the old woman talked to Mary about 
her daughter half the night. 

“ She was always discontented with her lot,” she remarked, 
“ when single. Change of circumstances seldom changed the dis- 
position. Perhaps it was Sophy’s own fault that she was not 
happy.” 


11 * 


250 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Mary thought that her mother was right; but she felt so anxious 
about her sister, that she determined to leave her mother, for a few 

days, to the care of a kind neighbor, and walk over to F , to 

ascertain how matters really stood. But her mother became seri- 
ously ill, which hindered her from putting this scheme into prac- 
tice ; and her uneasiness on her account banished Sophy and her 
aSairs out of her mind. 

Other events soon took place that made a material alteration 
in their circumstances. Mi Rollins, their benefactor, died suddenly 
abroad, and, leaving no will, the pension allowed to Mrs. Grim- 
shawe died with him. His nephew and heir had given them, 
through his steward, orders to quit their present abode, and poverty 
and the workhouse stared them m the face. 

Hearing of their distress, Noah Cv'tton came over himself to see 
them, and generously offered them a home with him and his wife 
as long as they lived. This was done so kindly, that the sick 
woman forgot all her old prejudices, and she and Mary thankfully 
accepted his offer. But when the time came for their removal, the 
old woman was too ill to be taken from her bed, and the surly 
steward reluctantly consented that she might remain a few days 
longer. 

Mary was anxious to leave the house. Since the appearance 
of old Mason’s ghost, a most unpleasant notoriety was attached to 
it, and the most disorderly scenes were constantly being enacted 
beneath its roof. Persons had been robbed to a considerable 

amount upon the road leading to , which at last attracted the 

attention of the tardy magistrates, and a large reward was offered 
for the apprehension of the person who performed the principal part 
in this disgraceful drama. Still, no discovery was made, until one 
night Bob Mason was shot by Tom Weston, who had sworn to 
take the ghost alive or dead. The striking resemblance this pro- 
fligate young man bore to his father had enabled him to deceive 
many into the belief that he was the person he represented. His 
mother, who was not in the secret, had never been on good terms ^ 
with her son since he had personated the ghost ; and the remarks 
he made upon his father she considered as peculiarly insulting to 
herself, and his dreadful end drove her mad, and this nest of ini' 
quity was broken up. Such is the end of the wicked. 

Let us now relate what had happened at the Perched House, to 
change the worldly Sophy Grimshawe into a pale and care-worn 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


25 ] 


woman. She did not love Noah Cotton, when she consented to 
^-ecome his wife ; but he was superior to her in wealth and station, 
and his presence inspired her with respect and awe. He was 
grave and taciturn ; but to her he was invariably generous and 
Rind. Every indulgence and luxury he could afford was lavishly 
bestowed on his young wife ; and if he did not express his attach- 
ment with the ardor of a youthful lover, he paid her a thousand 
little tender attentions which sufficiently proved the depth of his 
affection and esteem. 

He was grateful to her for marrying him ; and Sophy was not 
insensible to his efforts to render her comfortable and happy. Bv « 
happy she was not, nor was ever likely to be. 

Noah was a solitary man — had been so from his youth. He had 
been accustomed to live so many years wit'' his old mother, and 
to mix so little with his neighbors, that it had made him silent and 
unsociable. After the first week of their marriage, he had particu- 
larly requested his young wife to try and conform to his domestic 
habits, and she endeavored, for some time, to obey him. But, at 
her age, and with her taste for show and gaiety, it was a difficult 
matter. Yet, after a while, she mechanically sunk into the same 
dull apathy, and neither went from home, nor invited a guest into 
the house. 

Twelve months passed away in this melancholy, joyless sort of 
existence, when an old woman and her daughter came to reside in a 
cottage near them. Mrs. Martin was a kind, gossiping old body ; 
her daughter Sarah, though some years older than Mrs. Cotton, was 
lively and very pretty, and gained a tolerably comfortable living 
for herself and her mother by dress-making. They had once or 
twice spoken to Sophy, on her way to the Methodist chapel, but 
never when her husband was present, and she was greatly taken 
by their manners and appearance. 

“Noah, dear,” she said, pressing his arm caressingly, as they 
were coming home one Wednesday evening from the aforesaid 
chapel, “ may I invite Mrs. Martin and her daughter Sarah to 
drink tea with us ? They are strangers, and it would but be kind 
and neighborly to show them some little attention.” 

“ By no means, Sophy,” he cried, with a sudden start ; “ these 
people shall not enter my house.” 

“But why?” 

“ I have ray reasons. They are no friends of mine. They are 


252 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


no strangers to me. They lived here long ago, and were forced to 
leave the place, after her son, a mischievous, turbulent fellow, was 
hung.” 

“ Mrs. Martin’s son hung ! — what for ? I thought they had 
been decent, respectable people !” 

‘‘ There is no judging people by appearance,” said Noah, bitterly. 
“ I look a decent fellow, yet I have been a great sinner in my early 
days. And, with regard to these Martins, the less you have to do 
with them, Sophy, the better. I tell you, once for all, I will have 
no intimacy with them.” 

He spoke in a sterner voice than he had ever before used to his 
young wife. Sophy was piqued and hurt by his look and manner ; 
and though she felt very curious to ask a thousand questions about 
these Martins, and on what score they had given him such offence, 
Noah grew so cross, and spoke so angrily whenever she alluded to 
the subject, that she thought it most prudent to hold her tongue. 

From the hour that these Martins came to reside at F , 

Noah Cotton seemed a different creature. He was more sullen and 
reserved, and his attendance at the chapel was more frequent. His 
countenance, always pale and care-worn, now wore a troubled and 
anxious expression, and his athletic form wasted until he became 
perfectly haggard — the very spectre of his former self. 

In spite of his stern prohibition, Sophy, if she did not ask the 
Martins to the house, often, during her husband’s absence, slipped 
in to chat and gossip with them. Ere long, her own countenance 
underwent a visible change, and her wasted figure and neglected 
dress led a stranger to suspect that she was either in a decline, or 
suSering from great mental depression. 

Several weeks elapsed, and Mrs. Cotton had not been seen out- 
side her dwelling by any of the neighbors. Mrs. Martin and Sarah 
wondered what ailed her, and both at length concluded that she 
must be seriously ill. But, as no doctor was seen visiting at the 
house, and Noah went about his farm as usual, this could" hardly 
be the case. They were puzzled, and knew not what to think. At 

last, on the day that Noah went over to , in order to remove 

Mrs. Grimshawe and Mary to his own abode, the mystery was 
solved, and Sophy came across the road to visit her neighbors. 

“ Mercy, child ! what aileth thee ?” cried the old woman, hobbling 
to meet her, perfectly astonished at the melancholy alteration which 
a few weeks of seclusion had made in Mrs. Cotton’s appearance. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


253 


You are ill, Mrs. Cotton,” said Sarah, placing the easy-chaii 
tor her guest beside the fire. 

“ I have not felt well for some time,” returned Sophy, trying to 
seem composed ; “ and now, the alarming illness of my poor mother 

has quite upset me. I would have gone with Noah to to see 

her, but indeed I was not able,” — and she burst into tears. 

“ How long hath she been sick ?” asked the inquisitive old 
dame. 

Only a few days. Noah took the horse and cart to fetch her 
and Mary home to live with us. It is kind of Noah — very kind. 
But, God forgive me! I almost wish they mayn’t come.” 

“ Why child, it would cheer thee up a bit. I am sure thee want- 
8st some one to take care o’ thee.” 

“ I would rather be alone,” sighed the young wife. 

What has come over thee, Sophy Cotton ?” said the old woman^ 
coming up to her and laying her hand on her shoulder, while she 
peered earnestly into her face. I never saw such a cruel change 
in a young cretur in the course of a few weeks ! But there may 
be a cause — a natural cause,” and she smiled significantly. 

“No, no, thank goodness ! You are wrong — quite wrong, Mrs. 
Martin. No child of mine will ever sport upon my threshold, or 
gather daisies beside my door ; and I am thankful — so thankful, 
that it is so I” 

“ That’s hardly in natur’. Most o’ woman-kind love young chil- 
dren — ’specially their own.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Cotton,” said Sarah, soothingly, “ you look ill 
and miserable — do tell us what makes you so unhappy.” 

“ Indeed, Sarah, I can’t.” And Sophy wept afresh. 

“ Is Noah cross to you ?” 

“ Quite the reverse — he’s the kindest of men.” 

“ He looks very stern.” 

“ His looks belie him.” 

“ And do you love him?” 

“ If I did not, I should not be so miserable and Sophy laid her 
head down upon her knees and wept aloud. 

“ Mrs. Cotton, you distress us greatly,” continued Sarah, taking 
her cold, passive hand. “ Won’t you tell a friend and neighbor t he 
reason of this grief?” 

But Sophy only wept as if her heart were breaking. The mother 
and daughter looked at each other. 


254 


FLORi LYNDSAY. 


The old woman returned again to the charge : 

“ Tell one who loves thee like a mother.” A deep, long-drawn 
iigh was the only answer. 

“ Speak out your mind, dear,” said Sarah, pressing affectionately 
the thin, wasted hand that lay so passively within her own. “ ll 
will ease your heart.” 

Ah, if I thought you would tell no one.,” and Sophy raised her 
death-pale face, and fixed her earnest eyes mournfully upon her 
interrogator, I would confide to you my trouble ; but oh, if you 
were so cruel as to betray me, it would drive me mad.” 

“ Sure we can be trusted, Mistress Cotton,” and the old woman 
drew herself up with an air of offended dignity. “ What interest 
could Sarah and I have to betray thee ? we be no idle gossips going 
clacking from house to house about matters ihat don’t concern us. 
What good could it do us to blab the secrets of other folk.” 

“ It is only anxiety for your welfare, dear Mrs. Cotton,” whis^ 
pered Sarah, “ that makes us wish to know what it is that troubles 
you.” 

‘‘ I believe you, my kind friends,” replied Sophy. I know I 
should feel better if I had the thing off my mind. It is dreadful 
to bear such a burden alone.” 

Does not your husband know it?” 

“ That is what occasions me such grief ; I dare not tell him what 
vexes me ; I once hinted at it, and I thought he would have gone 
mad. You wonder why I look so pale and thin ; how can it be 
otherwise, when I never get a sound night’s rest?” 

“ What keeps you awake?” exclaimed both women in a breath. 

“ My husband I He does nothing but rave all night in his sleep 
about some person he murdered years ago.” 

The women exchanged significant glances. 

“ Oh, if you could but hear his dreadful cries — the piteous moans 
be makes — the frantic prayers he puts up to God to forgive him 
for his great crime, and take him out of the fires of hell, it would 
make your hair stand on end ; it makes me shiver and tremble all 
over with fear. And then to see, by the dim light of the rusn can- 
dle, (for he never sleeps in the dark,) the big drops of sweat that 
stand upon his brow and trickle down his ghastly face ; to hear him 
grind and gnash his teeth in despair, and howl in a wild sort of 
agony, as he strikes at the walls with his clenched fists ; it would 
make you pray, Mrs. Martin, as I do, for the light of day. Yes, 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


255 


it 13 killing me — I know it is ; it is horrible to live in constant 
the coming night — to shrink in terror from tho husband in 
whose bosom you should rest in peace,” 

“ Doth, this happen often?” asked Mrs. Martin. 

“ Every night for the last two months ; ever since you came to 
live near us. He used always to be afraid of the dark, and some- 
times made a noise in his sleep, but he never acted as he does now. 
Once I asked him what ho, was dreaming about, and why he always 
fancied that he had murdered some one, when asleep. He flew at 
me like a maniac, and swore that he would throttle me if he ever 
heard me ask such foolish questions again that people could not 
commit murder in the^r deep — that they must be wide awake to 
shed blood.” 

Ay, ay,” said the old woman, with a malignant smile, “ doubt- 
less he knows. Does he evci mention the name of the person he 
murdered, in his sleep ?” 

“ Constantly. Did you ever, Mrs. Martin, hear of a person of 
the name of Carlos ?” 

But the old woman did not anowoi- A change had passed over 
her face, as with a cry of triumph she sprang from her seat and 
clapped her hands in an ecstasy of joy- —it might rather be termed 
of gratified revenge. Ay ! ’tis oat at hut ! tis out at last ! My 
God ! I thank thee ! I thank thee ! Yts, yes’, * Vengeance is mine, 
I will repay, saith the Lord !’ My Bill ! brave Bill ! and thee 
hadst to die for this man’s crime! but God has righted thee at last 
— at last, in spite of this villain’s evidence, who swore that thy 
knife did the deed, when he plunged it himsH'Jf into the rich man’s 
heart. Ha, ha, I shall live to be revenged upon him — I shall, I 
shall!” 

What have I done ?” shrieked the unhappy wife. “ I have 
betrayed my husband into the hands of his enemies!” and she sunk 
down at the old woman’s feet like one dead. Gloating over her 
anticipated revenge, Mrs. Martin spurned the prostrate form with 
her foot, as she scornfully commanded her more humane daughter 
** to see after Noah Cotton’s dainty wife, while she went to the 
magistrate’s to make a deposition of what she had heard.” 

Shocked beyond measure at what she had heard and seen, 
ashamed of her mother’s violence, and sorry for Sophia’s unhappy 
disclosure ; as she well knew that, whether the actual murderer of 
Squire Carlos or only an accomplice, her brother was a bad man, 


256 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


irho deserved his fate. Sarah- tenderly raised the fainting Sophy 
from the ground, and placed her on her own bed. Long ere the 
miserable young w-oman returned to a consciousness of the result of 

her own imprudence, her husband, who had returned from 

without her sister or mother, was on his way to the county jail. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE NIGHT ALONE. 

Sophy returned to her desolate home, the moment she recovered 
her senses ; for the sight of the Martitis filled her mind with inex- 
pressible anguish. On entering the little keeping-room, she shut 
the door, and covering her head with her apron, sat down in Noah’s 
chair by the old oak table, on which she buried her face in her 
hands, and remained silent and astonished during the rest of the 
day. 

“Shall I sleep with you to-night, Mrs. Cotton?” said Sarah 
Martin, in a kind, soft voice ; as towards the close of that long, 
blank day, she opened the door, and looked in upon 

“ That desolate widow — ^but not of the dead.” 

“No, Sarah, thank you; I would rather be alone,” was the 
brief reply. 

Sarah lingered with her hand still on the lock, Sophy shook 
her head impatiently, as much as to say, “ Go, go ; I must be 
obeyed ; I know the worst now, and wish no second person to look 
upon my remorse — my grief — my bitter humiliation.” Sarah un- 
derstood it all. The door slowly closed, and Sophy was once more 
alone. 

Many hours passed away, and the night without, dark and sttir 
less, had deepened around her cold hearth, and Sophy still sat there 
with her head bowed upon the table, in a sort of despairing stupor, 
unconscious of everything but the overwhelming sense of intense 
misery. 

Then came painful thoughts of her past life ; her frequent quar- 
rels with her good sisters ; her unkindness and neglect to her sufier- 
ing mother ; her ingratitude to God ; and the discontented repiniiigg 
over her humble lot, which had led to her present situation. She 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


251 


liad sold herself for mouey ; and the wealth she had so criminally 
coveted, was the price of blood, i:.nd from its envied possession no 
real enjoyment had flowed. The poverty and discomfort of her 
mother’s cottage were small, when compared to the heart-crushing 
misery she at that moment endured. 

Then she thought of her husband ; thought of her selfish impru- 
dence in betraying his guilt — that in his approaching trial she must 
appear as a principal witness against him ; and that her testimony 
would, in all probability, consign him to thescaftold. 

She felt that, however great the magnitude of his crime, he had 
bitterly repented of it long ago ; that he had suffered untold agonies 
of remorse and contrition ; that his punishment had been more than 
his reason could well bear ; that he had suffered more ^rom the 
pangs of conscience than he ever could experience from the hands 
of man. All his kindness to her, since the day she became his 
wife, returned to her with a sense of tenderness she never had felt 
for him before. She never suspected how deeply she loved him, till 
she was forced to part from him for ever ; and her soul melted 
within her, and she shed floods of tears. 

She saw him alone in the dark dungeon, surrounded by the fright- 
.ul phantoms of a guilty conscience, with no pitying voice to soothe 
his overwhelming grief, or speak words of peace or comfort to his 
tortured spirit, and she inly exclaimed, I will go to him to-mor- 
-ow ; I will at least say to him, ^ I pity you, my dear, unhappy hus- 
band. I pray you to forgive me for the great evil I have brought 
upon you,’ ’ 

And with this thought uppermost in her mind, the miserable girl, 
overcome by her long ffist, and worn out by the excitement of the 
past day, fell into a profound sleep. 

And lo, in the black darkness of that dreary room, she thought 
she beheld a bright, shining light. It spread and brightened, and 
flowed all around her like the purest moonlight, and the centre con- 
densed into a female form, smiling and beautiful, which advancing, 
laid a soft hand upon her head, and whispered in tones of ineffable 
sweetness — 

“ Pray — pray for him and thyself, and thou shalt find peace.” 
And the face and the voice were those of her dead sister Charlotte, 
and a sudden joy shot into her heart, and the vision faded away, 
and she awoke, and behold it was a dream. 

And Sophy rose up, aud sank down upon the. ground, and buried 


258 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


her face in her hands, and tried to pray, for the first time in nt^i nfej 
earnestly and truthfully, in the firm belief that He to whom she 
addressed her petition was able to help and save her, in her hour of 
need. Few and imperfect were her words ; but they flowed from 
the heart, and He who looks upon the heart, gave an answer of 
peace. 

Memory, ever faithful in the hour of grief, supplied her with a 
long catalogue of the sins and follies of a misspent life. Deeply 
she acknowledged the vanity and nothingness of those things in 
which she had once felt such an eager childish delight ; and she 
asked forgiveness of her Maker for a thousand faults that she had 
never acknowledged as faults before. 

The world to the prosperous has many attractions. It is their 
paradise, they seek for no other ; and to part with its enjoyments 
comprises the bitterness of death. Even the poor work on, and 
hope for better days. It is only the wounded in spirit, and sad of 
heart, that reject its allurements, and turn with their whole soul to 
God. Out of much tribulation they are new-born to life — that 
better life promised to them by their Lord and Saviour. 

Sophy was still upon her knees, when the grey light of a rainy 
October morning gradually strengthened into day. Gloomy and 
lowering, it seemed to regard her with a cheerless scowl as, shivering 
with cold and excitement, she unclosed the door- and stepped forth 
into the moist air. 

“ How like my earthly destiny !” she sighed. “ But there is a 
sun behind the dark clouds, and hope exists, even for a wretch like 
me.’^ 

The sound of horses’ hoofs approaching rapidly struck upon her 
ear, and the next moment she had caught hold of the bridle of the 
nearest rider. They were the constables, who had conducted Noah 
to prison, returning to the village. 

“ Tell me,” she cried, in a voice which much weeping had rend^ 
ered hoarse, and almost inarticulate, “ something about my poor 
husband — will he be hung?” 

“Nothing more certain,” replied the person thus addressed. 
“ Small chance of escape for him. The foolish fellow has confessed 
all.” 

“ Then he did really commit the murder?” 

“ Worse thar that. Mistress, he drew his own neck out of the 
noose, and let another fellow suffer the death he richly deserved 


FLORA LYNOSAY. 


259 


By his account, hanging is too good for such a monster. He 
should be burnt alive.” 

“ May God forgive him !” exclaimed Sophy, wringing her hands. 

Alas ! alas ! He was a kind, good man to me.” 

“ Don’t take on, ray dear, after that fashion,” said the other 
horseman, with a knowing leer. “You were no mate for a fellow 
like him. Young and pretty as you are, you will soon get a bet- 
ter husband.” 

Sophy turned from the speaker with a sickening feeling of dis 
gust at him and his ribald jest, and staggered back into the house. 
She was not many minutes in making up her mind to go to her 
husband ; and hastily packing up a few necessaries in a small bun- 
dle, she called the old serving man, who had lived with her hus- 
band for many years, and bade him harness the horse and drive her 
to B . 

The journey was lofig and dreary, for it rained the whole day. 
Sophy did not care for the rain ; the dulness of the day was more 
congenial to her present feelings : the gay beams of the sun would 
have seemed a mockery to her bitter sorrow. 

As they passed through the village, a troop of idle boys followed 
them into the turnpike road, shouting, at the top of their voices — 

“ There goes Noah Cotton’s wife ! — the murderer’s wife I Look 
how grand she be in her fine chaise.” 

“ Ay,” responded some human fiend, through an open window, 
loud enough to reach the ears of the grief-stricken woman ; “ but 
pride will have a fall.” 

The penitent Sophy wept afresh at these insults. “ Oh,” she 
sighed, “ I deserve all this. I was too proud. But they don’t 
know how miserable I am, or they would not causelessly inflict 
upon me another wound.” 

“ Doan’t take on so. Missus,” said the good old serving-man, 
who, though he said nothing to her on the subject, felt keenly for 
her distress. “ Surely it’s no fault o’ yourn. You worn’t born, I 
guess, when Measter did this fearsome deed. I ha’ lived with Noe 
these fourteen years, an’ I never ’spected him o’ the like. He’s 
about as queat a man as ever I seed. He wor allers kind to the 
dumb beasts on the farm, an you know. Missus, that’s a good 
sign. Some men are sich tyrants, that they must vent their bad 
humors on suffin. If the survant doan’t cotch it, why the poor 
ilumb creturs in their power dew. Now, I say, Noe wor a good 


260 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Measter. both to man an’ beast, an’ I pray they may find him in- 
nocent yet.” 

Sophy had no hopes on the subject. She felt in her soul that 
he was guilty. The loquacity of honest Beni pained her, and in 
order to keep him silent, she remained silent herself, until they 
reached the metropolitan town of the county, in which the assizes 
were always held, which was not until late in the evening. 

She could gain no admittance within the jail that night, and 
Sophy put up at a small but neat public house near at hand. 
From the widow who kept the house, she heard that the assizes 
were to be held the following week, and that there was no doubt 
but what the prisoner, Noah Cotton, would be found guilty of 
death. But her son, who was the jailor, thought it more than prob- 
able that he would cheat the hangman, as he had scarcely tasted 
food since he had been in prison. Mrs. Cotton then informed the 
widow that she was the wife of the prisoner, and confided to her 
enough of her history to create for her a strong interest in the 
breast of the good woman. She did not fail to convey the same 
feeling with regard to Sophia, to her son, who promised her an early 
interview with her husband on the following morning, and to do all 
for her and him that lay in his power. 

Cheered with this promise, the weary traveller retired to her 
chamber, and slept soundly. Before six in the morning, she found 
herself in the presence of her husband. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE MEETING. 

“ My husband ! my dear husband ! and it was my imprudence 
that brought you to this !” cried Sophy, as she fell weeping upon 
the neck of the felon, clasping him in her arras, and kissing with 
passionate grief the tears from his haggard, unshaven face. 

“ Hush, my precious lamb,” he replied, folding her in his 
embrace. “ It was not you who betrayed me, it was the voice 
of God speaking through a guilty conscience. I am thankful I — 
oh, so thankful that it has taken place — that the dreadful secret 
is known at last 1 I enjoyed last night the first quiet sleep I have 
known for years — slept without being haunted by him !'* 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


261 


“And with death staring you in the face, Noah?’' 

“ What is death, Sophy, to the agonies I have endured ? — the 
fear of detection by day — the eyes of the dead glaring upon me all 
night ? No ; I feel happy, in comparison, now. I have humbled 
myself to the dust — have wept and prayed for pardon ; and oh, my 
sweet wife, I trust I am forgiven — have found peace " 

“ When was this?” whispered Sophy. 

“ The night before last.” 

“ How strange !” murmured Sophy. “We were together in 
spirit that night. I never knew how dear you were to me, Noah, 
until that night. How painful it would be to me to part with you 
for ever !” 

“ It was cruel and selfish in me, Sophy, to join your fate to mine 
— a monster, stained with the blackest crimes. But I thought 
myself secure from detection — thought that my sin would never 
find me out, that I had managed matters with such incomparable 
skill that discovery was impossible, that the wide earth did not 
contain a witness of my guilt. Fool that I was. The voice of 
blood never sleeps ; from out the silent dust it calls night and day 
in its ceaseless appeals for vengeance at the throne of God. I 
have heard it in the still, dark night, and above the roar of the 
crowd in the swarming streets of London at noon-day ; and ever 
felt a shadowy hand upon my throat, and a cry in my ear — Thou 
art the man ! 

“ There were moments when, goaded to madness by that voice, 
I felt inclined to give myself up to justice ; but pride withheld me, 
and the dismal fear of those haunting fiends chasing me through 
eternity, was a hell I dared not encounter. My soul was parched 
with an unquenchable fire ; I was too hardened to pray.” 

“Noah,” said Sophy, looking earnestly into his hollow eyes, 
“ you are not a cruel man ; you were kind to your old mother — 
have been very kind to me. How came you to commit such a 
dreadful crime?” 

The man groaned heavily, as he replied — 

“ It was pride — a foolish, false shame of low birth and honest 
poverty, that led me to the desperate act.” 

“ I have felt something of this,” said Sophy, and her tears flowed 
afresh. “ I now see that sinful thoughts are but the seeds of sinful 
deeds, ripened and matured by bad passions. Perhaps I only need- 


262 


FLORA ,.YNDSAY. 


ed a sti onger temptation to be guilty of crimes as great as that of 
which you stand charged:” 

“ Sophy,” said her husband, solemnly, “ I wish my fate to serve 
as a warning to others. Listen to me. In the long winter eve- 
nings after my mother died, I wrote a history of my life. I did this 
in fear and trembling, lest any human eye should catch me at my 
task, and learn my secret. But now that I am called upon to 
answer for my crime, 1 wish to make this sad history beneficial to 
my fellow-creatures. 

“ After I am gone, dear Sophy, and you return to F . lose 

no time in taking to your home and making comfortable your 
poor afilicted mother and sister for the remainder of their days. 
This key”— and he drew one from his pocket — “ opens the old- 
fashioned bureau in our sleeping-room. In the drawer nearest to 
the window you will find my will, in which I have settled upon you 
all that I possess. I have no relations who can dispute with you 
the legal right to this property. There is a slight indenture in the 
wood that forms the bottom of this drawer ; press it hard with 
your thumb, and draw it back at the same time, and it will dis- 
close an inner place of concealment, in which you will find a roll 
of Bank o" England notes to the amount of £500. This was the 
money stolen from Mr. Carlos the night I murdered him. It i§ 
stained with his blood, and I have never looked at it or touched it 
since I placed it there, upwards of twenty years ago. I never had 
the heart to use it, and I wish it to be returned to the family. 

In this drawer you will likewise find the papers containing an 
account of the circumstances that led to the commission of the crime. 
You and Mary can read them together.; and oh ! as you read, pity 
and pray for the unhappy murderer.” 

He stopped, and wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow ; 
and the distress of his young wife almost equalled his own, as she 
kissed away the tears that streamed down his pale face. His breath 
came in quick, convulsive sobs, and he trembled in every limb. 

“ I feel ill,” he said, in a faint voice ; “ these recollections make 
me so. There is a strange fluttering at my heart, as if a bird beat 
its wings within my breast. Sophy, my wife — my blessed wife I 
can this be death ?” 

Sophy screamed with terr::r, as he reeled suddenly forward, and 
fell to the ground at her feet. Her cries brought the jailer to her 


FLORA LYNDSAV 


265 


assistance. They rs^ised the felon, and laid him on his ; but life 
was extinct. The agitation of his mind had been too great for his 
exhausted frame. The criminal had died self-condemned under the 
arrows of remorse. 


CHAPTER XU. 

THE murderer’s MANUSCRIPT. 

Who am I, that I should write a book ? a nameless, miserable 
and guilty man. It is because these facts stare me in the face, and 
the recollection ef my past deeds goads me to madness, that I would 
hiin unburthen my conscience by writing this record of myself. 

I do not know what parish in England had the discredit of being 
my native place. I can just remember, in the far off days of my 

early childhood, coming with my mother to live at F , a pretty 

rural village in the fine agricultural county of S . My mother 

was called Mrs. Cotton, and was reputed to be a widow, and I was 
Ik’t only child. Whether she had ever been married, the gossips of 
the place considered very doubtful. At that period of my life, this 
important fact was a matter to me of perfect indifference. 

I was a strong, active, healthy boy, quite able ,to take my own 
part and defend my own rights, against any lad of my own age who 
dared to ask impertinent questions. 

The great man of the village — Squire Carlos as he was called — 

1 lived in a grand hall, surrounded by a stately park, about a mile 

from P , on the main road leading to London. His plantations 

and game preserves extended for many miles along the public tho- 
f roughfare, and my mother kept the first porter’s lodge nearest the 
village. 

The Squire had been married, but his wife had been dead for 
some years. He was a tall, handsome man, in middle life, and bore 
the character of having been a very gay man in his youth. It was 
whispered, among the aforesaid village gossips, that these indiscre- 
tions had shortened the days of his lady, who loved him passionately ; 
at any rate, she died of consumption before she had completed her 
twenty-fourth year, without leaving an heir to the estate, and the 
Squire never married again. 

Mr. Carlos often came to the lodge — so often, that he seldom 
passed through the gate on his way to and from the Hall, without 


264 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


stepping in to chat with my mother. This was when he was alone, 
accompanied by strangers, he took no notice of us at all. My 
mother generally sent me to open the gate. The gentlemen used to 
call i^e a pretty, curly-headed boy, and I got a great deal of small 
change from them on hunting days. I remember one afternoon, 
when opening the gate for a large party of gentlemen, with the 
Squire at their head, that one of them tapped my cheek with his 
riding whip, and exclaimed — 

“ By Jove ! Carlos, that’s a handsome boy.” 

Oh, yes,” said another ; the very picture of his father. 

And the Squire laughed, and they all laughed ; and when I went 
back into the lodge, I showed my mother a handful of silver I had 
received, and said — 

“ Mother, who was my father?” 

“Mr. Cotton, of course,” she answered, gravely, “but why> 
Noah, do you ask ?” 

“ Because I want to know something about him. 

But my mother did not choose to answer impertinent questions ; 
and, though greatly addicted to telling long stories, she seemed to 
know very little about the private memoirs of Mr. Cotton. She 
informed me, however, that he had been a fellow-servant with her 
in the Squire’s employ ; that he quarrelled with her shortly after I 
was born, and left her, and she did not know what had become of 
him, but she believed he went to America, and from his long silence, 
she concluded that he had been dead for some years ; that out of 
respect for his services, Mr. Carlos had placed her in her present com- 
fortable situation, and that I must show my gratitude to Mr. Carlos 
for all he had done for us, by the most dutiful and obliging behav- 
iour. I likewise learned from her, that I was called Noah, after 
my father. 

This brief sketch of our family history was perfectly satisfactory 
to me at that time. I remember feeling a strong interest in my 
unknown progenitor, and used to castle-build and speculate about 
his fate. 

In the meanwhile, I found it good policy strictly to obey my 
mother’s injunctions, and the alacrity which I displayed in waiting 
upon the Squire and his guests, never failed in securing a harvest 
of small coin, which gave me no small importance in the eyes of the 
lads in the village, who waited upon me with the same diligence 
that I did upon the Squire, in order, no doubt, to come in for a 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


26 t 


share of the spoil. Thus a love of acquiring without labor, and of 
obtaining admirers without any merit of my own, was early fos- 
tered in my heart, which led to a taste for fine dress and a boastful 
display of superiority, by no means consistent with my low birth 
and humble means. 

In due time I was placed by Mr. Carlos at the village school, 
and the wish to be thought the first scholar in the school, and excel 
all my companions, stimulated me to learn with a diligence and 
determination of purpose, which soon placed me at the top of my 
class. 

There was only one boy in the school that dared to dispute my 
supremacy, and he had by nature what I acquired with great toil 
and difficulty — a most retentive memory, which enabled him to 
repeat, after once reading, a task which took me several days of 
hard study to learn. How I envied him this faculty, which I justly 
considered possessed no real merit in itself, but was a natural 
gift. It was not learning with him, it was mere reading. He 
would just throw a glance over the book, after idling half his time 
in play j and then walk up to the master, and say it off without 
making a single blunder. He was the most careless, reckless boy 
in the school, and certainly the cleverest. I hated him. I could 
not bear that he should equal, and even surpass me, when he took 
no pains to learn. 

If the master had done him common justice, I should never have 
stood above him. But for some reason, best known to himself, he 
always favored me, and snubbed Bill Martin, who, in return, played 
him a thousand impish tricks, and taught the other boys to rebel 
against his authority. Bill called me the ohsneakious young gentki- 
man, and Mr. Bullen, the master, the Squire’s Toady. 

There was constant war between this lad and me. We were 
pretty equally matched in strength ; for the victor of to-day, 
was sure to be beaten on the morrow ; the boys generally took 
part with Martin. Such characters are always popular, and he 
had many admirers in the school. My aversion to this boy made 
me restless and unhappy. I really longed to do him some injury. 
Once, after I had given him a sound drubbing, he called me “ a 
base-born puppy ! a beggar, eating the crumbs that fell from the 
rich man’s table.” 

Foaming with rage — for a wound to my pride was far worse in 
my estimation than any personal injury — I demanded what he 

12 


266 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


meant by such insulting language ; and he sneered in my face, and 
told me to go home and ask my virtuous mother, as she, doubtless, 
was better qualified to give me the information I desired. And 
I did ask my mother, and she told me “ I was a foolish boy to 
heed such nonsense, spoken in anger by a lad I had just thrashed ; 
that Bill Martin was a bad fellow, and envious of my being better 
off than himself; that if I listened to such senseless lies about 
her, it would make her miserable, and I should never know a 
happy hour myself.’^ 

I felt that this was true. I loved my mother better than any- 
thing in the world. Her affection and kindness to me was bound- 
less. She always welcomed me home with a smiling face, and I 
never received a blow from her hand in my life. 

My mother was about six-and-thirty years of age. She must 
have been beautiful in youth, for she was still very pretty. Her 
countenance was mild and gentle, and she was scrupulously neat 
and clean. I was proud of my mother. I saw no woman in her 
rank that could be compared with her ; and any insult offered to 
her I resented with my whole heart and strength. I was too young 
to ask of her an explanation of the frequency of the Squire’s visits 
to our house ; and why, when he came, I was generally dispatched 
on some errand to the village ; and had the real explanation been 
given, I would not have believed it. 

Mr. Carlos had no family, but his nephew and niece came twice 
a-year to spend their holidays at the old hall. Master Walter, 
who was his heir, was a fine, manly fellow, about my own age ; and 
Miss Ella, who was two years younger, was a sweet, fair ghl, as 
beautiful as she was amiable. 

I had just completed my fourteenth year, and was tall and stout 
for my age. Whenever these young people were at the Hall, I was 
dressed in my best clothes, and went up every day to wait upon 
them. If they went fishing, I carried their basket and rods, baited 
their hooks, and found out the best places for their sport, and 
managed the light row-boat if they wished to extend their rambles 
further down the river. ’ 

Often we left boat and tackle, and scampered through the groves 
and meadows. I found Miss Ella birds’ nests and wild strawber- 
ries, and we used to laugh and chat over our adventures on terms 
of perfect equality — making a feast of our berries, and telling fairy 
tales and ghost stories. Not un frequently we frightened ourselvei 


FLCRA LYNDSAy. 


261 


With these wild legends, and ran back to the boat, and bright river, 
and the gay sunshine, as if the evil spirits we had conjured up 
were actually after us, and preparing to chase us through the 
dark wood. And then, when we gained the boat, we would stop 
and pant, and laugh at our own fears. 

Walter Carlos was a capital shot, and very fond of all kinds of 
field sports. His skill with a gun made me very ambitious to 
excel as a sportsman. Mr. Carlos was very particular about his 
game. He kept several gamekeepers, and was very severe in pun- 
ishing all poachers who dared to trespass on his guarded rights— 
yet, when his nephew expressed a wish that I might accompany 
him in his favorite diversion, to my utter astonishment and delight, 
he took out a licence for me, and presented me with a handsome 
fowling-piece, which I received on my birthday from his own hand. 

“ This, Noah,” he said, “ you may consider in the way of busi- 
ness, as it is my intention to bring you up for a gamekeeper.” 

Oh, what a proud day that was to me ! With what delight I 
handled my newly-acquired treasure 1 How earnestly I listened to 
Joe, the head gamekeeper’s directions about the proper use of it ! 
How I bragged and boasted to my village associates of the game 
that I and Master Walter had bagged in those sacred preserves 
that they dared not enter, for fear of those mysterious objects of 
terror — man traps and spring guns ! 

“ The Guy — he thinks that no one can shoot but himself,” 
sneered Bill Martin, as he turned to a train of blackguards that 
were lounging with him against the pales of the porter’s lodge, as 
I returned one evening to my mother’s with my gun over my 
shoulder, and a hare and brace of pheasants in my hand. “ 1 
guess there be others who can shoot hares and pheasants, without 
the Squire’s leave, as well as he. He fancies himself quite a gem- 
man, with that fine gun over his shoulder, and the Squire’s licence 
in his pocket.” 

These insulting remarks stirred up the evil passions in my breast. 
My gun was unloaded, but I pointed it at my tormentor, and told 

him to be quiet, or I’d shoot him like a dog. “ Shoot and be 

to you !” says he, “ it’s a better death than the gallow^s, and that’s 
what you’ll come to.” 

This speech was followed by a roar of coarse laughter from his 
companions. 

** I shall lire to see you hung first I” I cried, lowering the gun, 


268 


FLORA LYNDSA’S . 


while a ^ort of prophetic vision of the far-off future swam before 
my sight. ‘‘ The company you keep, and the bad language you 
use, are certain indications of the road on which you are travelling. 
I have too much self-respect to associate with a blackguard like 
you.” 

“ Dirty pride and self-conceit should be the words you ought to 
use,” quoth the impudent fellow. “My comrades are poor, but 
they arn’t base-born sneaks like you.” 

With one blow I levelled him to the ground. Just at that 
moment the Squire rode up, and prevented further mischief. That 
Bill Martin was born to be my evil genius. I wished him dead a 
hundred times a day, and the thought familiarized my mind to the 
deed. He was the haunting fiend, ever at my side to tempt me to 
commit sin. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

MY FIRST LOVE. 

Mere boy as I was, my heart had been deeply moved by the 
beauty of Miss Ella Carlos. I often waited upon her all day with- 
out feeling the least fatigue ; and at night my dreams were full of 
her. I don’t think that she was wholly insensible to my devotion, 
but it seemed a matter of amusement and curiosity to her. 

I remember, one day — oh, how should I forget it ! for it formed 
a strong link of evil in my unhappy destiny — that I was sitting on the 
bank of the river, making a cross-bow for my pretty young lady 
out of a tough piece of ash — for she wanted to play at shooting at 
a mark, and she and Master Walter were sitting beside me watch- 
ing the progress of my work — when the latter said — 

“ I wish I were two years older.” 

“ Why do you wish that, Watty?” asked Ella. 

“ Because papa says I am to go into the army at sixteen, and I 
do so long to be a soldier.” 

“ But you might be killed.” 

“ And I might live to be a great man like the Duke of Welling- 
ton,” said he, with boyish enthusiasm. “ So, Madame Ella, set the 
one chance against the other.” 

“But it ^requires more than mere courage, Walter, to make a 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


263 


great man like him. I have heard papa say — and he fought undei 
him in Spain — that it takes a century to produce a Wellington.” 

“I think papa did the Duke great injustice,” said Walter 
“ There is not one of the heroes of antiquity to compare with him. 
Julius Caesar was not a greater conqueror than Napoleon, and 
Wellington beat him. But great as the Duke is, Miss Ella, he 
was a boy once — a soldier of fortune, as I shall be — and who 
knows but that I may win as great a name.” 

“ It is a good thing to have a fine conceit of one’s-self,” said the 
provoking girl. “And what would you like to be, Noah?” she 
cried, with a playful smile, and turning her bright, blue eyes on 
me. “ An Oliver Cromwell at least, as he was a man of the peo- 
ple ; and you seem to have as good a headpiece as my valiant 
brother.” 

“ I wish,” I said with a sigh, which I could not repress, “ that I 
were a gentleman.” 

“ Perhaps you are as near obtaining your wish as Walter is. 
And why, Noah, do you wish to be a gentleman? You are much 
better off, if you only knew it, as you are.” 

I shook my head. 

“ Come answer me, Noah ; I want to know.” 

“ Indeed, Miss Ella, I cannot.” 

“You can, and shall.” 

I looked earnestly into her beautiful face. 

“ Oh, Miss Ella, can you ask that ?” 

“ Why not ? Your reasons, Mr. Noah — your reasons.” 

My eyes sought the ground. I felt the color glow upon my 
cheeks, and I answered in a voice trembling with emotion — “ Be- 
cause if I were a gentleman. Miss Ella, I might then hope that 
you would love me, and that I might one day ask you for my 
wife.” 

The young thing sprang from the ground as if stung by a viper, 
her eyes flashing, and her cheek crimson with passion. “ You are 
an impertinent, vulgar fellow,” she cried. “low dare to think of 
marrying a lady I Yow, who have not even fortune to atone for 
your plebeian name and low origin ! Never presume to speak to 
me again !” 

She swept from us in high dudgeon. Her brother laughed at 
what he termed a funny joke. I was silent, and for ever. The 
subject vvas the most important to me in life. Idiat flash of dis" 


m 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


dain from the proud, bright eye — that haughty, sarcastic curve of 
her beautiful young lip, had annihilated it. Yet her words awoke 
a strange idea in my mind, that finally lured me onward to destruc- 
tion. They led me to imagine that the want of fortune was the 
only real obstacle between me and the attainment of my presump- 
tuous hopes — that common as my name was, I only required the 
magic of gold to ennoble it ; and proud as she was, if I were but 
rich, even she would condescend to listen to me, and become mine. 

From that hour Miss Ella walked and talked with me no more. 
[ saw her daily at the hall, but she never cast upon me a passing 
glance ; or if chance threw us in the same path, she always turned 
disdainfully away. The distance which every hour widened be- 
tween us only served to increase the passion that consumed me. I 
tried to feel indifferent to her scorn — in fact, to hate her, if I could ; 
but my efforts in both cases proved abortive. 

Shortly after this conversation, Mr. Walter joined the army, and 
Miss Ella accompanied her mother to France to finish her educa- 
tion ; and I was placed under the head gamekeeper, to learn the 
art of detecting snares and catching poachers. 

I filled the post assigned me with such credit to myself, and so 
completely to the satisfaction of my master, that after a few years, 
on the death of old J oe Hunter, I was promoted to his place, with 
h salary of one hundred pounds per annum, and the use of this cot- 
tage and farm rent free. 

I now fancied myself an independent man, and my old crave for 
oeing a gentleman returned with double force ; and though I had 
not seen Miss Ella for years, my boyish attachment was by no 
means diminished by absence. I determined to devote all my spare 
time to acquiring a knowledge of books. Our curate whs a poor 
and studious m.m ; to him I made known my craving for mental 
improvement ; and as my means were more than adequate to my 
simple wants, and I never indulged in low vices, I could afford to 
pay him well for instructing me in the arts and sciences. 

If Mr. Abel found me a willing pupil, I found in him a kind, 
intellectual instructor. Would to God I had made him a confidant 
of the state of my mind, and given him the true motives which 
made me so eager to improve myself. But from boyhood I was 
silent and reserved, and preferred keeping my thoughts and opin- 
ions to myself. I never could share the product of my brain with 
another ; and this unsociable secretiveness, though it invested me 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


271 


•rith an outward decency of deportment^ fostered a mental hypo* 
v,risy and self-deception far more destructive to true godliness than 
the most reckless vivacity. 

Mr. Abel entertained a high respect for me — I was the model 
young man of the parish — and wherever lie went, he spoke in terms 
of approbation of my talents, my integrity, my filial duty to my 
mother, and the laudable efforts I was making to raise myself in 
society. This was all very gratifying to my vanity. I firmly 
believed in the verity of my own goodness, and considered the good 
curate only did me justice. 

Our conversation often turned on religious matters, but my ortho- 
doxy was so correct, my outward conduct so unimpeachable, that 
my title to piety of a superior cast made not the least item in the 
long catalogue of my virtues. And the heart all this time — that 
veiled and guarded heart, whose motions none ever looked upon or 
suspected — was a blank moral desert — a spot in which every cor- 
rupt weed had ample space to spread and grow without let or hin- 
drance. 

As long as Mr. Abel remained in F , I maintained the repu- 

tation I had acquired ; and long after he left us, I was a regular 
church-goer, and prosecuted my studies both at home and abroad. 
At that time my personal appearance was greatly in my favor ; and 
I was vain of my natural advantages. I loved to dress better, 
and appear as if I belonged to a higher grade than my village as- 
sociates. This could not be done without involving considerable 
expense. I kept a handsome horse, and carried a handsome gun ; 
and I flattered myself that, when dressed in my green velvet shoot- 
ing jacket, white cords, top boots, and with my hunting cap placed 
jauntily on my head, I was as handsome and gentlemanly-looking a 
young fellow as could be found in that part of the country. 

I had just completed my twenty-third year when Miss Ella made 
her appearance once more at the hall. She was no longer a pretty 
child, but had grown into a lovely and accomplished woman. A 
feeling of despair, mingled with my admiration when she rode past 
me in the park, accompanied by a young gentleman and an elderly 
lady. 

The gentleman was a younger brother, who afterwards died in 
India ; the lady was her mother. Miss Ella was mounted on a 
spirited horse, on which she sat to perfection — her nobly-proportioned 


272 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Bgure displayed to the best advantage by her elegant and cl'^sely- 
fitting dark-blue riding habit. 

After they passed me, the elderly lady bent forward from her 
horse and said to her daughter, loud enough for me to hear, 
“ Ella, who is that handsome young man — he looks like a gentle- 
man. ” 

*• Far from that, mamma,” returned the young lady, saucily, “ it 
is my uncle’s gamekeeper, Noah Cotton — the lad I once told you 
about. He is grown very handsome. But what a name! Noah!” 
and she laughed — such a merry, mocking laugh ; “ it is enough to 
drown any pretensions to good looks.” 

“ How came you to know the man, Ella ?” said her brother, 
gravely. 

*• Oh, George, you know Uncle is not over-particular. An aris- 
tocrat with regard to his game, and any infringement on his rights 
on that score ; but a perfect democrat in his familiarity with his 
domestics and tenants. He used to send for this Noah to play with 
us during the holidays. He was a beautiful, curly-headed lad ; and 
we treated him with too much condescension, but it was Uncle’s 
fault ; he should have known that the boy was no companion for 
young people in our rank. This saucy, spoilt boy, had not only 
the impudence to fall in love with me, but to tell me so to my 
face.” 

“ The scoundrel !” muttered the young man. 

“Of course I never spoke to him again. I complained to Uncle, 
and he only treated it as a joke. It is a pity,” she added, in a less 
boastful and haughty tone, “ that he is not a gentleman ; he is a 
handsome, noble-looking peasant.” 

They rode out of hearing, leaving me rooted to the spot. The 
sudden turn in the path had hidden me from their observation, and 
brought them and the theme of their conversation too terribly 
near. 

Miss Ella’s description of me cut into my soul, and stung me like 
an adder. I pressed my hand upon my burning brain — upon my 
aching heart. I tried to tear her image from both. Yain effort! 
Passion had done its work effectually. The limning of years could 
not be effaced by the desecrating power of mortified vanity. 

I saw her many times during that visit to the Hall ; but, beyond 
raising my cap respectfully when she passed me, no word of recog- 
nition ever escaped from my Tips. Once or twice, I thought, from 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


27S 


her manner, and the earnest way in which she regarded me, that 
she almost wished me to speak to her. 

Her horse ran away with her one morning in the park, and she 
lost her seat, but received no serious injury. I caught the animal, 
and helped her to remount. Our eyes met, and she blushed very 
deeply, and her hand trembled as it lay for a moment in mine. 

Trifling as these circumstances were, they gave birth, at the time, 
to the most extravagant hopes, which filled me with a sort of 
ecstasy. I almost fancied that she loved me — she, the proud, high- 
born, beautiful lady. Alas ! I knew little of the coquetry of 
woman’s nature, or that a girl of her rank and fortune would con- 
descend to notice a poor lad like me, to gratify her own vanity and 
love of admiration. 

I went home intoxicated with delight ; and that night I dreamt 
I found a vast sum of gold beneath a pine-tree in one of the planta- 
tions, and that Ella Carlos had consented to become my wife. My 
vision of happiness was, however, doomed to fade. The next day 
Mrs. Carlos and her son and daughter left the Hall, and I did not 
see her again before she went. 

?^or weeks after their departure I moped about in a listless, dis- 
pirited manner, loathing my menial occupation, and despising the 
low origin which formed an insurmountable barrier between me and 
the beautiful mistress of my heart. 

I was soon roused from these unprofitable speculations, and called 
to take an active part in the common duties of my every-day life. 

Some desperadoes had broken into the preserves, and carried off a 
large quantity of game. Mr. Carlos vowed vengeance on the depre- 
dators, and reprimanded me severely for my neglect. 

This galled my pride and made me return with double diligence 
to my business. After watching for a few nights, I had every 
reason to believe that the poacher was no other than my old enemy 
Bill Martin, who, absent for several years in America, had suddenly 
reappeared in the village, and was constantly seen at the public 
house, in the company of a set of worthless, desperate characters. 

He had sunk into the low blackguard, and manifested his hatred to 
me by insulting me on all occasions. My dislike to this ruffian was 
too deep to find vent in words. I was always brooding over his 
injurious conduct, and planning schemes of vengeance. 

One day, in going through the plantations, I picked up a large, 
American bowie-knife, with Bill Martin’s name engraved upon the 

12 * \ 


2U 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


handle. This I carefully laid by, hoping that it might prove use^ 
ful on some future occasion. 

Meanwhile, the game was nightly thinned ; and the caution and 
dexterity with which the poachers acted, baffled me and my col- 
leagues in all our endeavors to surprise them in the act. 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

TEMPTATION. 

That Bill Martin is a desperate ruffian,” said Mr. Carlos to 
me one morning, after we were returning to the Hall through the 
park. I had been watching in the preserves all night, but nothing 
had transpired, beyond the discovery of the bowie-knife, that could 
lead to the detection of the marauders. I have no doubt that he 
and his gang are the party concerned in these nightly depredations ; 
but we want sufficient proof for their apprehension.” 

“ Give Martin rope enough, and he’ll hang himself,” I replied. 
“ He is fierce and courageous, but boastful and foolhardy. In 
order to astonish his companions, he’ll commit some daring out- 
rage, and betray himself. I will relax a little from our vigilance, 
to give him more confidence, and put him off his guard. It won’t 

be long, depend upon it, before we have him safely lodged in 

jail.” 

“ Noah, my boy, you are a trump !” cried the Squire, throwing 
his arm familiarly across my shoulders. It’s a pity such talents 
as you possess should be wasted in watching hares and partridge.” 

I felt my heart beat, and my cheeks glow, and I thought of Miss 
Ella. “ Was he going,” I asked myself, “ to place me in a more 
respectable situation ?” 

But no ; the generous fit passed away, and he broke into a hearty 
laugh. 

D e, Noah, I had half a mind to buy a commission for you, 

and make a soldier of you. But you had better remain as you are. 
That confounded name of Noah Cotton would spoil all. Who 
ever heard of a gentleman bearing such a cognomen ? It is worse 
than Lord Byron’s.” 

“ Ainas Cottle ! Phoebus, what a name ! What could tempt 
your mother to call you after the old patriarchal navigator ? Ha I 
ha: it was a queer dodge.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


275 


“ It was my father’s name,” said I, reddening ; for, besides beinar 
bitterly mortified and disappointed, I by no means relished the joke y 
“ and my father, though poor, was an honest man !” 

“ Both cases rather doubtful,” said the Squire, laughing to him- 
self. Then, slapping me pretty sharply on the shoulder, he said — 
“ And what, my lad, do you know of your father ?” 

“ Nothing, personally, to the best of my knowledge. I never 
saw him ; but my mother has told me a good deal about him.” 

“ Humph !” said Mr. Carlos. “ Did she tell you how much she 
was attached to Mister Noah Cotton, and how grieved she was to 
part with such a tender, loving husband ?” 

‘‘ Sir, Mr. Carlos — do you mean to insult me by speaking in 
this jeering way of my parents ?” 

Not in the least, Noah ; so don’t look at me with that fierce 
black eye as if you took me for a hare or a pheasant, or, worse than 
either, for Bill Martin. You ought to know that I am yoiir friend 
— have been your friend from a child ; and if you continue to con- 
duct yourself as you have done, will befriend you for life.” 

I looked, I am sure, very foolish, for I felt his words rankling in 
my heart ; and though I affected to laugh, I strode on by his side 
in silence — the chain of obligations he had wound around me, and 
my dependence upon him tightening about me, and galling me at 
every step. He certainly saw that I was offended ; for, stopping 
at the gate that led from the park to the Hall-gardens, and where 
our roads separated, he said, rather abruptly — 

“You are angry with me, Noah ?” 

“ With you, sir? — that would be folly.” 

“ It would, indeed. I see you can’t bear a joke.” 

“ Not very well.” 

“ You don’t take after your father, then ; for he loves a joke 
dearly.” 

“ Is my father alive ?” I cried, eagerly. 

“Of course he is.” 

“ My mother don’t know this.” 

“As well as I know it. Women have all their secrets. They 
don’t tell us all they know. One of these days you’ll hear more 
about this mysterious father, depend upon it.” 

I longed to ask him all he knew upon the subject, but we were 
not on terms of familiarity to warrant such a liberty He was my 


276 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


master, and it was his part to speak — ^mine to listen. Presently he 
turned the subject into another channel altogether. 

“ By-the-bye, Noah,” he said, “ I am going to-day to . I 

have a large sum of money to receive from my lawyer — the pay- 
ment for Crawford’s farm, which I sold a few months ago. The 
land was bad, and I was offered a good price for it — more, indeed, 
than I thought it was worth. Horner advised me to sell, and I 
sold it accordingly. It may be late when I return to-morrow 

night, which I shall do by the F coach. It will put me down 

on th-e other side of the park, and I shall have to walk home by 
the plantations and through the great avenue ; and though the 
distance is but a mile, to tell you the truth, I should not like to 
meet Bill Martin and his gang after nightfall in such a lonely 
place, especially with a large sum of money on my person — at 
least from £500 to £1000. I wish you would bring your gun, 
and wait for the coming up of the coach, at the second gate which 
leads into that lonely plantation. It will be^n by ten o’clock.” 

“ That I will, with the greatest pleasure,” I cried, and all my 
petty resentment vanished. “I am not afraid of twenty Bill 
Martins. I only wish I may have the luck to meet with him.” 

“ I shall feel perfectly safe with you, Noah. But — hallo ! I for- 
got ; is not to-morrow the great cricket-match at S ? and you 

must be there.” 

“ It is,” said I. “ But there is no positive necessity for my being 
there. It is a good thing to be missed sometimes. They’ll know 
the value of a good player another time.” 

“You are their best hand ?” 

“ Yes ; I know that, and they know it too. However, for this 
time, they must try and win the match without me. Hood mor- 
ning, Mr. Carlos ; I will not fail to meet you as you desire.” 

He entered the magnificent lawn that spread in front of his noble 
residence ; and I, whistling the tune of a hunting-song, turned 
my steps through the plantations towards home. 

God knows ! at that moment, I had not the most distant idea of 
raising my hand against his life. 

I walked on, or rather, sauntered — for the weather was exces- 
sively warm for September — in a sort of dreamy state. The 
thought uppermost in my mind was a vague wish to know hew 
much money Mr. Carlos expected to receive for the sale of Craw 
ford’s farm. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


271 


The land was not very good ; but the house and barns were com- 
modious, and in excellent repair. It was honestly worth £4,000. 
Will he receive this large sum in one payment — or will it be by 
instalments of eight hundred or a thousand pounds ? The latter 
sum was the most probable. ‘‘ He is foolish,” I continued, pursu- 
ing ray train of thought, to travel with a sum like that in his 
pocket, and by a common conveyance too. It is tempting Provi- 
dence. But he is a rash man who never listens to any advice. He 
will be murdered one of these days if he does not take care.” 

A thousand pounds is an immense sum in the estimation of a 
poor man. The busy fiend whispered in my ear, How much 
could be done with that sum if you could only command it ! It 
would buy a commission in the army, and make a gentleman of you 
at once.” But then people would suspect how I came by it.” 

It would enable you to emigrate to America or Australia, and 
become the purchaser of a tract of land, that might make your 
fortune.” 

Yes ! and then I would drop the odious name of Noah Cotton, 
return with a fine coat, and a noble alias, and seek out and marry 
my adored Ella Carlos.” 

After indulging for some time in this species of castle-building, 
I began seriously to consider whether it would be such a difficult 
matter to obtain the money, and realize the latter of these dreams, 

I did not wish to inflict any personal injury on Mr. Carlos, whc 
had always been very kind to me and my mother ; yet he was a 
person for whom I felt little respoct, and I often reproached my- 
self for my want of gratitude to our mutual benefactor. 

He had a fine person, and a frank, generous bearing, but his 
manners were coarse and familiar, and his language immoral, and 
beneath the dignity of a gentleman. I had frequently seen him 
intoxicated ; and while in that state, I had often assisted him 
from his carriage, and guided his tottering steps up the broad stone 
steps that led to his mansion. 

I had often remarked to my mother, when such an event had 
filled me with deep disgust, Had Mr. Carlos been a poor man, he 
would have been a great blackguard.” 

And she would grow very red and angry — more so than I thought 
the occasion required, and say — “ My son, it is not for the like of 
us to censure the conduct of our betters. It is very unbecoming, 
3specialh7 in you, on whom the Squire has conferred so many favors 


278 


FLORA L\NDSAY. 


You ought to shut your eyes and ears, and let on to no one what 
you see and hear.’^ 

I did neither the one nor the other. I was keenly alive to the 
low pursuits of my superior, whom I only considered as such as far 
as his rank and wealth were concerned, for hitherto I had led a 
more moral life than he had. I neither gambled, nor drank, nor 
swore ; had never seduced a poor girl to her ruin, and then boasted 
of my guilt. If the truth must be spoken, I regarded the Squire 
with feelings of indifference, which amounted almost to contempt, 
which all sense of past obligations could not overcome. 

Oh, if these spoilt children of fortune did but know the light in 
which such deeds are regarded by the poor, and the evils which 
arise from their bad example, they would either strive to deserve 
their respect, or at least strive to keep their immoralities out of 
sight ! 

It is, perhaps, no excuse for my crime to say, that had Mr. Car- 
los been a good man, I should never have been a bad one, or have 
been tempted under any circumstances to have taken his life ; yet 
I do feel certain, that if that had been the case, he would have been ’ 
safe, and I had never fallen. I should have tried to show my grati- 
tude to him, by deserving his esteem : as it was, I felt that his 
good opinion of me was of little worth — ^that he could not prize 
good qualities in me to which himself was a stranger. The only tie 
which bound me to him was one of self-interest. He paid me well, 
and for the sake of that pay I had, up to this period, been a faith- 
ful servant. 

But what has all this to do with my temptation and fall ? Much 
— oh, how much — the conviction of the worthlessness of my mas- 
ter’s character, and the little loss his death would be to the com- 
munity at large, drowned all remorseful feelings on his behalf, and 
hastened me far on the road to crime. 

After having once indulged the idea that I could easily rob him, 
and make myself master of the property he had on his person, I 
could not again banish it from my mind. I quickened my pace, 
and recommenced whistling a gay tune; but the stave suddenly 
ceased, and in fancy I was confronting Mr. Carlos by that lonely 
avenue-gate. I rubbed my eyes to shut out the horrid vision, and 
began slashing the thistles that grew by the roadside with my cane. 
Then I thought I saw him pale and weltering in his blood at mj 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


2t9 


feet, and I heard Bill Martin’s fiendish laugh, and his prophecy 
respecting the gallows. 

I stopped in the middle of the road, and looked hard at the dust. 
What a terrible idea had that one thought of Bill Martin’s con- 
jured up — the opportunity to gratify my long-treasured hatred — 
to avenge myself on my enemy was within my grasp ! 

That knife — I walked quickly on — I nearly ran, driven forward 
by the excitement under which I labored. Yes — ^that knife, with 
his name upon the handle. If the deed were done adroitly, and 
with that knife, and I could but contrive to send him to the spot 
a few minutes after the murder had been committed, he would be 
the convicted felon — I the possessor of wealth that might ultimately 
pave the way to fortune. 

I was now near the village, and I saw a bosom friend of Mar- 
tin’s, with a suspicious-looking dog lounging at his heels. I knew 
that anything said to Adam Haws would be sure to be retailed to 
his comrades, for with Bill Martin I never held the least communi- 
cation. 


CHAPTER XLIY. 

THE PLOT. 

“ A FINE day. Mister Game-keeper,^’ quoth Adam ! “ Prime 
weather for shooting I Have you much company at the Hall ?” 

“No one at present. The Squire expects a large party the 
beginning of the week.” 

“ Is there much game this season ?” asked the poacher, very 
mnocently. 

“There I replied, rather fiercely. “But these rascally 

poachers are making it scarce. I only wish I had the ringleader of 
the gang within the range of this gun.” 

“ How savage you are. Cotton ! A soft, easy name that for a 
hard, cruel fellow. Why not live and let live ? What is it to you 
if a poor fellow dines now and then off the leg of a hare, or the 
wing of a pheasant? It don’t take one penny out of your pocket. 
What right have these rich men to lay an embargo upon the beasts 
of the field, and the fowls of the air? Aye, upon the very fish that 
swims in the stream, which Go i gave for the use of all. Tyrants I 
— they have not enough of the good things of this world, but they 


280 


FLORA LTNDSAY. 


must rob the poor of their natural rights. I only wish I had them 
under the range of that, which a poor man dare not carry without 
a licence, in a free land. But there will come a day,” — and he 
ground his teeth, — “ pray God that it may come soon, when these 
cursed game laws and their proud makers, shall be crushed under 
our feet.” 

“ That will not be in your day — nor yet in mine, Adam Haws. 
No, not if we both lived to the age of your venerable namesake of 
apple-celebrity. Like him — you seem to have a hankering for for- 
bidden fruit ; and taste it too, I apprehend, if I may judge by that 
lurcher at your heels. You are wrong to keep that dog. It has a 
suspicious look.” 

“ I am not acquainted with his private tastes,” said Adam, pat- 
ting the snaky-headed brute. “ Like his betters, he may relish a 
hare, now and then, but I never saw him eat one. Fox, my boy ! 
Are you fond of game ? — ^the keeper thinks you are. Fie, fox, fie. 
It is as bad to look like a thief, as to be one.” 

“You had better put that dog away, Adam. If the Squire sees 
him, he will order him to be shot.” 

“ Damn the ’Squire I Who cares for the ’Squire. He poaches 
on other preserves besides his own. Hay, Mister Cotton ?” 

The color flushed my face — I scarce knew why. “ I don’t un- 
derstand your joke.” 

“ Oh, no, of course not. You are such an innocent fellow. But 
there are others who do. Are you going to the cricket match to- 
morrow ? The fellows of S have challenged our fellows to a 

grand set-to on the common — ’tis famous ground. The men of 

S play well — ^but our bullies can beat them. I am told that 

you are the flash man of the F club ?” 

“ I love the sport — it is a fine, manly, old English game ; I should 
like to go very well, and they expect me ; but I have an engage- 
ment elsewhere.” 

“ You’ll have to put it off.” 

“ Impossible.” 

“ But the honor of the club.” 

“ Must yield to duty. I promised to meet Mr. Carlos at the 
second avenue gate to-morrow night, at eleven o’clock.” 

“ Damme has he turned thief-taker ? Does he mean to catch the 
poachers himself? Well, if that is not a queer dodge for a gemle- 
man.” 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


281 


“He would not be a bad hand/* said I, laughing. “ No, no. 

The coach puts him down there on his return from I , and I 

promised to see him safe home.” 

“ Safe home ! Why, man, ’tis only a mile from the Hall. Is h<i 
afraid of ghosts ?” 

“Not at all,” I said, dropping my voice. “ No one who knows 
Squire Carlos, could ever take him for a coward. But there are a 
great many suspicious characters in the neighborhood, and the Squire 
returns with a large sum of money on his person. He was afraid 
that he might be robbed in that lonely place, and he asked me, as 
a particular favor, to meet him there with my gun.” 

“A large sum of money did you say?” and the poacher drew 
nearer and gazed upon me with an eager and excited stare. “ Does 
he often travel abroad with such sums about him?” 

“Not often. This is a particular case — it is the price of the 
land he sold lately, Crawford’s farm, and he wants the money to 
make another purchase. Perhaps he will have with him a couple 
of thousand pounds.” 

“ You don’t say — and you are to meet him at the second avenue 
gate at eleven o’clock ?” 

“ So I promised. But don’t, there’s a good fellow, mention it to 
any one. I would not for the world be thought to blab my master’s 
secrets. He would never forgive me, if it came to his ears. To 
tell you the truth, I don’t much like the job. I would rather have 

a jolly day with the club at S . I am sure we should win the 

match.” 

“ I thought the coach came in at ten?” said Adam, still dream- 
ing over the vision of gold. 

“ Not on market nights ; it is always late. Eleven was the hour 
he appointed.” 

“ Oh, of course, he knows best. And such a large sum of money ! 
I would not venture on the road with twenty shiners in my pocket. 
But two thousand ! the man’s a fool. Good day, Noah — don’t raise 
a bad report against my poor dog. You know the old proverb— ‘ Give 
a dog a bad name.’ Two thousand pounds — my eye, what a sum !” 

Away trudged the poacher, with the game-destroyer wt his heels. 
I sat down upon a stile, and looked after him. I was ^ire of my 
man. 

“ Go yo ir ways to Bill Martin,” I said “ Tell him the tale ] 


•282 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


have told to you, and between us, Mr. Carlos has small chance of 
sleeping on a feather bed to-morrow night.” 

I felt certain that an attempt would be made to rob Mr. Carlos 
by these ruffians. I read it in that fellow’s eye. “ I would bet my 

life that neither of us go to the cricket match to-morrow at S . 

Bill will have a different job on hand. It will be the ball and not 
the bat, that is to win the game they hope to play.” 

I had only to be at the place at the right hour, and with a dex* 
terous blow stun, without killing my victim, and secure the prize ; 
and then return and detect the ruffians in the very act ; and for this 
purpose, I determined to secure the co-operation of another game- 
keeper, who might accompany me to the avenue, and help me to 
secure the villains. I was so elated with this plan, that I forgot 
my own share of the guilt. The leaven of iniquity that I had in- 
troduced into the breast of another, was already at work, and 
two human beings were subjected to the same temptation to which 
I had yielded. 

It is astonishing how a fellowship in guilt hardens the guilty. 
Men, like wolves, are often great cowards alone ; but give them a 
few companions in crime, and pusillanimity is instantly converted 
into ferocity. The coward is always cruel ; the mean-spirited mer- 
ciless. The consciousness that two of my fellow-men premeditated 
committing the same crime, wonderfully strengthened me in 
my resolution of plunging my soul into the abyss of guilt. I had 
another passion to gratify, which had rankled for years in my breast, 
that of revenge. A wish to over-reach and disappoint Bill Martin 
was a stronger incentive to this deed than the mere lucre of gain. 
The burning hatred I had cherished from boyhood was on the eve 
of being gratified. I should, in case of failure on my part, at least 
secure his destruction. 

When I reached home, I found two of the principal members of 
the cricket club, both respectable merchants in the village, waiting 
to see me. I was their best hand, and they left no argument un- 
urged, in order to induce me to go. I took them separately aside, 
and confidentially informed them of my reasons for staying at home. 
This I justly thought would avert all suspicion from me as the 
real culprit. Of course they were convinced that my going w^as out 
of the question, and took their leave with regret. 

My mother was not very well. She had a bad head-ache, and 
complained of being very nervous (a fine word she had picked up 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


283 


from the parson’s wife), and we passed a very dull evening to- 
gether. 

I had never before shunned my mother’s eye ; but this night I 
could not look steadily at her. She at length noticed my agitation, 
and asked if anything had gone wrong with the game. 

I said, “ Nothing more than usual. That I was sorry that I 
could not go to the match — that I was afraid our men would be 
beaten without me — that I had a great mind to send the second 
keeper, George Norton, who was a brave, honest fellows to meet 
my master, and start for S the next day.” 

“ You must do no such thing,” she said, sharply. “ You must 
meet Mr. Carlos, as you promised him, yourself. If any harm 
should happen to the Squire through your neglect, we shall lose 
the best friend we have in the world. You must not think of 
leaving him to the care of another. He will be justly displeased, 
and it may mar your fortune for life. ” 

“ In w^hat way, mother ?” I said, gloomily. “ I think you place 
too much importance on the Squire’s good-will. I could earn my 
own living, if I were out of employ to-morrowr.” 

My mother replied, “ that I was proud and ungrateful — that Mr. 
Carlos had raised me out of the dirt, and I ought to be ready to 
lay down my life to serve him.” 

I retorted. She grew angry, and for the first time in my life, 
she went to bed without kissing and bidding me good-night, or 
wishing that God might bless me. 

I felt the omission keenly. It seemed as if my good angel had 
forsaken and left me to my fate. For a long time I sat brooding 
over the fire. My thoughts were full of sin. I went to the cup- 
board where my mother kept a few simple medicines and a small 
bottle of brandy, in case of accidents or sudden illness. I hated 
ardent spirits, and seldom took anything stronger than a cup of 
tea or milk, or, when very tired, a little home-brewed ale. But 
this night I took a large glass of brandy — the first raw liquor I 
ever drunk in my life. Stupified and overpowered, I soon found 
relief from torturing thoughts in a heavy, stupid sleep. 

Breakfast was on the table when I unclosed my eyes. The 
remains of the brandy were replaced in the cupboard, and my poor 
mother was regarding me with a sad countenance and tearful eyes, 

“ 1 ou were ill, Noah, last night ?” 

I had a confounded head-ache.” 


284 


FLORA LYIsDSAY. 


“ And you did not tell me.’^ 

“ You parted with me in anger, mother. I felt so miserable! 
We never had a quarrel before, and I took the brandy to raise my 
spirits. It had a contrary effect. It made me drunk, for the first 
time in my life.” 

“ I hope it will be the last.” 

“ Yes ; if the repetition does not prove more agreeable. My 
temples throb — my limbs tremble — everything is distasteful. Who 
could feel pleasure in a vice so bestial ' 

‘‘Habit, Noah, reconciles us to many things which at first 
awaken only aversion and disgust. All pleasure which has its 
foundation in sin must end in pain and self-condemnation. Drunk- 
enness is one of those vices which when first indulged creates the 
deepest shame and humiliation ; but custom renders it a terrible 
necessity.” 

My mother could preach well against any vice to which she was 
not particularly inclined herself. I never saw her take a glass of 
wine or spirits in my life. This was from sheer want of inclina- 
tion ; all strong drinks were disagreeable to her taste. 

I took a cup of tea, and after immersing my head in cold water, 
the nausea from which I was suffering gradually abated, and I soon 
felt well again. While I was standing at the open window I saw 
Adam Hows and Bill Martin pass the lodge. They were in 
earnest conversation. I called to Adam, and asked him, “ If he 
were going to see the cricket-match ?” 

He answered, “ That it depended upon the loan of a horse. 
Harry Barber had promised them his ; but it had broken pasture, 
and they were going in search of it.” 

I did not I)elieve this statement. I was certain that it was in- 
tended for a blind. I told Adam that, in case he did not find Barber’s 
horse, I would lend him mine. He was profuse of thanks, but did 
not accept my offer. He was certain of finding the lost animal in 

time : he was going to drive over his friend to S , and my mare 

did not go in harness. I took no notice of his companion. For 
many months we had never spoken to each other — not even to ex- 
change insults. At four o’clock in the afternoon I heard that they 
were drinking in a low tavern just out of the village. If I did not 
keep my appointment with Squire Carlos, I felt convinced that 
they would. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


285 


CHAPTER XLY. 

THE MURDER. 

Aj . . day I was resdess, and unable to settle to the least thing. 
My mother attributed my irritation and ill-humor to the brandy I 
had drunk on the preceding evening. As the night drew on, I was 
in a perfect fever of excitement ; yet not for one moment did I 
abandon the dreadful project. I had argued myself into the belief 
that it was my fate — that I was compelled by an inexorable des- 
tiny to murder Mr. Carlos. I was to meet him at ten o’clock — just 
one hour earlier than the time I had named to Adam Hows. At 
eight my mother went to bed, complaining of ii^disposition. I was 
glad of this, for it left me at perfect liberty to arrange my plans. 

I dressed myself in a wagoner’s frock and hat, in order to con- 
ceal my person from my victim, and with Bill Martin’s bowie knife 
in the breast of my waistcoat, and a large knotted bludgeon in my 
hand, almost a fac-simile of one often carried by chat ruffian, I 
sallied into the road. My disguise was so complete, that few with- 
out a very near inspection would have detected the counterfeit. 
Fortunately, I met no one on the road whom I knew, and reached 
the second gate in the dark avenue which led to the one that opened 
into the high-road, just ten minutes before the coach drove up. I 
heard thg bluff voice of the coachman speaking to the horses. I 
heard Mr. Carlos, in his frank, cheerful tones bid the coachman 
good night. The stage rattled on, and the Squire’s measured 
step, for he had been a soldier in his youth, sounded upon the hard 
gravel path that led from the avenue to the plantation-gate, by the 
side of which I was concealed, behind t^e trunk of a vast oak that 
cast its dense shadows across the road. Above, the moon was shin- 
ing in a cloudless sky. 

After the first gate which opened upon the road had swung to 
after him, Mr. Carlos commenced singing a favorite hunting song, 
perhaps to give me warning of his approach, or to ascertain if X 
had been true to my word. 

Nervous as I had been all day, I was now calm and collected. 
I had come there determined to rob him, and nothing but the cer- 
tainty of detection could have induced me to abandon my purpose. 

When he reached the gate, he called out, in his clear voice, 
‘ Noah — Noah Cotton ! are you there?” 


286 


FLORA LYNiJSAY. 


Eeceiviug no answer, he opened the gate, and passed through. 
As he turned to shut it, I sprang from my hiding-place, and with 
one blow successfully, but not mortally aimed, 1 felled him to the 
ground. Contrary to my calculations, he stood erect for a momejit, 
and instead of falling forward against the gate, he reeled back, an 
fell face upwards, to the earth. Our eyes met — he recognized niC 
in a moment. To save his life now was to forfeit my own, and 
the next moment I plunged the bowie-knife to the hilt in his breast. 
He gasped out, “This from you, Noahl Poor Elinor, you are 
terribly avenged!” 

He never spoke more. I hastily searched his pockets, and drew 
from his bleeding breast a large pocket-book, which contained the 
coveted treasure. I then flung the bloody knife with which I had 
done the deed, to some distance, and fled from the spot, taking a 
near cut to the lodge across the fields. 

I entered at a back gate, and going up to my own room, I care- 
fully washed my hands and face, and dressed myself in the clothes 
I had worn during the day, thrusting the wagoner’s frock and hat 
and the fatal pocket-book into an old sack, I hastily concealed them 
in a heap of old manure, which had served for a hot-bed in the gar- 
den, until a better opportunity occurred of effectually destroying 
them. All this was accomplished in an almost incredibly short 
time ; and when my arrangements were completed, I once more had 
recourse to the brandy-bottle, but took good care this tinj^ not to 
take too potent a dose. I then shouldered my gun, and walked to 
the cottage of the second game-keeper, which lay in my path, and 
briefly stating my reasons for calling him up, I asked him to accom- 
pany me to the second avenue gate to meet my master. 

George Norton instantly complied, and we walked together to 
the appointed spot, discussing in the most animated manner, as we 
went along, the probable result of the cricket match at S . 

As we entered the first plantation, we were accosted by Bill Mar 
*^in and Adam Haws. Both were greatly excited, and exclaimed in 
a breath — 

“ Mr. Carlos has been robbed and murdered ! The body is lying 
just within the second gate, in the middle of the path. Come with 
us and seel” 

“ And what brings you here, you scoundrel ! at this hour of 
night?” I cried, suddenly, throwing myself upon Bill Martin. 
“ What business have you trespassing in these preserves? If Mr 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


287 


Carlos is murdered, it is you and your accomplice that have done 
the deed. It is not pheasants and hares that you came here to shoot, 
as the muzzle of that pistol, sticking out of your pocket, can 
prove.” 

On hearing these words Adam Haws discharged a pistol at my 
head, and' missing his aim, threw down the weapon and fled. Bill 
Martin struggled desperately in my grasp, but I held him fast. ] 
was a strong, powerful man, and he was enfeebled by constant drun!:- 
eness and debauchery. I held him like fate. 

Norton now came to my assistance, and we secured Martin’s 
hands with my silk pocket handkerchief. I remained with my grasp 
upon liis collar, while Norton ran back to the village to fetch the 
constables. 

It was one of the most awful moments in my life, while I stood 
alone in that gloomy grove confronting my victim. He neither 
spoke nor trembled. The unhappy man seemed astonished and 
bewildered at what had befallen him. All was so still around us 
that I heard his heart beat distinctly. 

We remained in this painful and constrained silence for some 
time. At last he said, in a subdued voice, “ Noah Cotton, I am 
not guilty. I never murdered him.” 

*' Perhaps not. Your comrade in crime may have saved you the 
trouble.” 

“ Nor him either. The deed was done before we reached the 
spot.” 

“ What brought you there ?” I said, abruptly. 

“ The hints you i hrew out for our destruction ;” and his eje once 
more flashed with its accustomed boldness. “ You acted as decoy- 
duck, and your superior cunning has triumphed. In order to gratify 
your old hatred to me, you have killed your benefactor.” 

The moon was at full, but the trees cast too deep a shade upon 
the spot we occupied to enable him to see my face. I was, how- 
ever, taken by surprise, and gave a slight start. He felt it, and 
laughed bitterly. 

"We are a pair of damned scoundrels !” he cried ; " but you are 
the worst, and you know it. I, of course, must hang for this ; for 
you have laid your plans too well to allow me a loop-hole to escape. 
Now, Noah Cotton, for once be generous. I know I have treated 
you confoundedly ill — that I am a very bad fellow, and richly 
deserve the gallows ; but I am very young to die — to die for a 


288 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


crime I did not actually commit. 1 have a widowed mother, an 
orphan sister to support, who love me, and will be broken-hearted 
at my death — for their sakes, give me a chance of making my escape. 
I will leave the country directly, and never return to it again to 
trouble you more. Have mercy upon me! For Christ’s sake, 
have mercy upon me !” 

My heart was moved. I was almost tempted to grant his prayer. 
Eut I dared not trust him. I knew that my own safety entirely 
depended on his destruction. 

“ William Martin,” I said, very calmly, “your attempt to charge 
me with this crime is a miserable subterfuge. What interest had I 
to kill Mr. Carlos ? Did not my living depend upon him ? The 
folly of the man who killed the goose that laid the golden eggs 
would be wisdom compared with such a deed. Mr. Carlos was of 
more value to me living than dead.” 

“ That is true,” he said, thoughtfully. “ I may hare wronged 
you. It is a strange, inexplicable piece of business.” Then he 
muttered to himself, “ ‘ The wages of sin is death.’ It is useless to 
ask mercy from him. He would not save my life if he could. Oh, 
my mother ! — my poor, poor mother !” 

Hardened as I thought this ruffian had been for years, the big, 
bright drops coursed each other down his sunburnt cheeks ; his 
large chest heaved convulsively, and loud sobs awoke the lone echoes 
of the wood. 

I could endure his agony no longer. “ Martin,” I said, in a low 
voice — for the agitation that shook my whole frame nearly deprived 
me of the power of utterance— “ behave more like a man ; were you 
innocent man, you could not be affected in this strange way.” 

“ By , I am not innocent ! Who said I was ? But I again 

repeat, I did not kill him.” 

“Then Adam did?” 

“ No, no — it was his first attempt at murder.” He stopped 
short. He had committed himself. 

“ Why, Bill, your own words condemn you.’ 

“ Don’t use them against us. I am mad. I don’t know what I 
say.” 

“ Hush 1 I hear steps approaching. Be quiet for one moment, 
while I untie your hands, and I will give you a last chance for 
your life.” 

“ Your frozen heart has thawed too late,” he cried, with a hob 


FI.ORA LYNDSAY. 


289 


tO’w groan, ‘‘ The constables are already here, and I am a dead 
man.’^ 

He was right ; Norton, with the constables and a large body of 
men, now burst through the trees, I gladly consigned the pris- 
oner to their charge, while I proceeded with the rest of the party to 
the spot where the murder had been committed. I knew that it 
would awaken suspicion for me to remain behind ; I therefore 
plac<3d myself at the head of them ; but I would have given worlds 
to have remained behind. A few minutes brought us to the fatal 
gate. 

We gathered round the body in silence. Horror was depicted 
on every countenance. Some, who had known the Squire for years, 
shed tears — I could not ; but I gladly buried my face in my hand- 
kerchief, to shut out the dreadful spectacle. The moon, peering 
down between the branches of the trees, looked full in the dead man’s 
face. Those glassy, upturned eyes chilled my heart to stone with 
their fixed, icy stare. 

Oh I it is terrible to see a man so full of life and health but yes- 
terday, look thus! 

Is he quite dead ?” said George Norton. My poor, dear mas- 
ter ! — my good, generous master ! Noah, lend a hand to raise him 
up.” 

With a deep groan I seconded his efforts, and the head of the 
murdered man rested upon my knees, as I crouched beside him on 
the ground. A viper was gnawing at my heart. I would have 
given my chance of an eternity of bliss, which I possessed not many 
hours ago as man’s only true inheritance, to have recalled the trans- 
actions of that dreadful night. 

“ See, here is a wound in his breast,” I cried. He has not 
been shot, but stabbed with a long sharp dirk or knife. He must 
have been taken unawares, for he seems to have made no effort to 
defend himself.” 

“ Here is his hat,” cried another. “ The back of it is all bat- 
tered and crushed in. He has been knocked down and then stab- 
bed. Oh, that Martin — that infernal villain !” 

Whenever I heard Martin reproached as the murderer, I fancicid 
that those dead eyes of my master looked into my soul with a 
mournful scorn. Yet I lacked the moral courage to say, “ I am 
the man.” 

We formed a littei of boughs, ar.d carried the body up to the 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ETall, We had not proceeded many steps on our sad journey before 
Norton stumbled over something in the path. It was the bloody 
knife. 

“ Here is something that will give a clue to the mystery. By 
Jove ! Bill Martin’s American knife. He was showing this wick- 
ed-looking blade, and bragging about it the other night at the 
White Horse. Murder will out. If evidence were wanted of his 
guilt, this knife would hang him. Faugh ! the blood is still wet 
upon the blade.’* 

The knife passed from hand to hand, and to mine among the rest. 
I did not see the blood. It appeared to me red-hot — to glow and 
flicker with the flames of hell. 

It was the dawn of day when we reached the Hall with our 
melancholy burthen. The fatal news had travelled there before 
us. Half the inhabitants of the village were collected on the lawn. 
The old servants were standing on the steps to receive the body of 
their master. As we drew near, cries and groans arose on every 
side. 

“ This is a bad job for you, Noah,’* said the old butler — “ for us 
all ; but especially for you. He was your best friend.” 

“ It is a loss to the whole country,** I cried, mournfully, shaking 
my head. 

“ And Adam Hows is off with the money SRSd the steward, 
with a sharp eager face. 

“ So we suppose. Martin has been searched, but there is none 
in his possession. I hope the other rascal will be taken.” 

“ Come with us, Noah, into the kitchen,” cried several of the 
servants in a breath, “ and tell us all about it. They say it was 
you who discovered the murder, and took the villain at the risk of 
your life. Come in, and take a glass of hot stuff*, and give us ail 
the particulars.’’ 

And I had to endure a fresh species of torture in recapitulating 
all the circumstances that I dared reveal of that revolting act — to 
listen to, and join in all their comments, doubts and surmises, and 
answer all the agonizing questions suggested by curiosity or com- 
passion. I was beginning to feel hardened to the painful task, and 
answered their eager inquiries without changing countenance, or 
betraying more than a decent emotion on the melancholy occasioa 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


291 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

MY MOTHER. 

I WAS relieved from ray embarrassing situation by a message from 
my mother. She was ill, and wished to see me, begging me to re 
turn home without a moment’s delay. 

“Ah, poor woman ! This is a sad judgment, a heavy blow to 
her. She must feel this bad enough,” said one of the old servants. 
“ Yes, yes, Noah, lose no time in going home to comfort your 
mother.” 

I gazed from one to another in blank astonishment. They shook 
their heads significantly. I hurried away without asking or com- 
prehending what they meant. 

As T walked rapidly home, I pondered over their strange con- 
duct. Beyond my losing my situation of game-keeper and porter 
to the lodge, I could not see in what way the death of Mr. Carlos 
should so terribly affect my mother, without she suspected that ] 
was his murderer. Guilt is naturally timid ; but my plans had 
been laid with such caution and secresy, and carried out so well, 
that it was almost next to an impossibility for her to suspect a 
thing in itself so monstrously improbable. 

The murder had been an impulsive, not a premeditated act. 
Four-and-twenty hours ago, I would have shot the man who could 
have thought me capable of perpetrating such a deed. How little 
we know of the spirit of which we are made ! Christ knew it well 
when he composed that clause of his matchless prayer, “ Lead us 
not into temptation.” 

The clocks in the village were striking eight when I entered the 
lodge. My mother was sitting in her easy chair, supported by pil- 
lows. Her face was death pale, and she had been crying violently. 
Two women, our nearest neighbors, were standing beside her, 
bathing her wrists and temples with hartshorn. 

“Oh, Noe,” exclaimed Mrs. Jones, “ I’m glad thee be come to 
thy mother. She hath been in fits ever since she heard the 
dreadful news.” 

“We cor.td not persuade her that you were safe,” said Mrs, 
Smith. “ She will be content when she sees you herself.” 


292 


FLORA LYNDSAr. 


“ Mother” — and I went up to her and kissed her rigid brow — 
are you better now ?” 

She took my hand and clasped it tightly between her own, but 
made no reply. Her face became convulsed, the tears flowed over 
her cheeks like rain, and she fainted in my arms. 

“ She is dying !” screamed both women. 

'' She will be better presently,” I said. Open the window- 
give me a glass of water ! There — there, she is coming to ! Speak 
to me, dear mother!” 

“Is it true, Noah ?” she gasped out, but broke down several 
times before she could make her meaning plain. “ Is he — is the 
Squire dead ? — murdered ?” 

“ Too true, mother I I have just helped to carry the body up to 
the Hall.” 

“ Oh, oh I” she groaned, rocking herself to and fro in a strange 
agony ; “I hoped it had been false.” 

“ It is a shocking piece of business — but why should it affect you 
in this terrible way ?” 

“ That’s what I say,” cried Mrs. Jones. “ It do seem so strange 
to us that she should take on in this here way for a mere stranger.” 

“ Don’t ask me any questions, Noah,” said my mother, in a low, 
firm voice. “ I am better now. The sight of you has revived me ; 
and these kind neighbors may return home.” 

“ At ten o’clock the magistrates meet at the Market Hall to 
examine the prisoners,” I said ; “ and I must be there to make a 
deposition of what I know. I can stay with you till then.” 

“Oh, Noe! thee must tell as all about it!” said Mrs. Smith, 
who was dying with curiosity. “How did it come about?” 

I was not prepared for this fresh agony ; but I saw that there 
was no getting rid of our troublesome visitors without satisfying 
their insatiable greed for news ; and I went through the dreadful 
task with more nerve than I expected. My mother listened to the 
recital with breathless interest, and the women clung to me with 
open eyes and mouth, as if their very life depended upon my 
words, often interrupting me with uncouth exclamations of surprise 
and horror. At length all was told that I could tell. My mother 
again broke into passionate tears. 

“ Poor Mrs. Martin !” she sobbed, “ hew dreadful it must be to 
her. I pity her from my very soul I” 

1 had never given Marlin’s unfortunate mother a single thought. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


291 


I was not naturally cruel, and this planted a fresh arrow in 
heart. 

It is about eight years ago' that she lost her husband,” said 
neighbor Smith. “ He died from the bite of a mad dog. He was 
the Squire’s game-keeper then. Little Sally was not born until live 
months after her father’s death. I don’t know how the widow has 
contrived to scratch along, and keep out of the workhouse. But 
she was always a hard-working woman. She had no friend like 
the Squire, to take her by the hand and give her son a genteel edu- 
cation. She did get along, however, and sent that Bill to Mr. Bul- 
len’s school ; but she half starved herself to do it — and what good ? 
He has been a world of trouble to her, and almost broke her heart 
before he run off to ’Meriky. This fresh misfortune will go nigh to 
kill her outright.” 

‘‘And was it to add to this poor devoted creature’s sorrows,” I 
asked myself, “ that I was prepared to give false evidence against 
her son ?” For well I knew, that his life depended upon that evi- 
dence. 

For Martin I felt no pity. His death never filled me with re- 
morse like the murder of the Squire. He was born for the gallows, 
I had only forestalled him in the deed that would send him to the 
grave. He had sought the spot with the intention to rob and kill. 
I had no doubts on that head ; and I persuaded myself that , he 
had richly merited the fate that awaited him. But the grief of his 
unhappy mother awakened a pang in my breast that was not so 
easily assuaged. 

The women at length took their leave, and I was alone with my 
mother. For some minutes she remained silent, her hands pressed 
tightly over her breast, and her tear-swollen eyes fixed mournfully 
on the ground. 

“ Noah,” she said at length, slowly raising her head, and looking 
me earnestly in the face, “do you think that the family would allow 
me to look at the corpse ?” 

I actually started with horror. I felt the blood recede from my 
cheeks, and a cold chill creep from my hair downwards. 

“ Good God, mother ! what should make you wish to see him ? 
He is a frightful spectacle ! — ^so frightful that I would not look at 
him again for worlds I” 

“ Oh,” groaned my mother, “it is hard to part from him foi 
ever, without one last look !” 


294 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


“ Mother, mother !” I cried, while a horrid suspicion darted 
through my brain, “what is the meaning of this strange conduct, 
and still stranger words ? In the name of Heaven ! what was 
Squire Carlos to you ?” 

“Noah, he was your father]” returned my mother, slowly and 
solemnly. “ I need not tell you what he was to me.” 

Had she stabbed me with a red-hot knife, the effect would have 
been less painful. 

“ My father !” I cried, with a yell of agony, as I sunk down, 
stunned with horror, at her feet. “ Mother ! — mother ! for my 
sake — for your own sake, recall those dreadful words !” 

Some minutes elapsed before I again awoke to the consciousness 
of my terrible guilt. !My crime appeared to me in a new aspect — 
an aspect that froze my soul, and iced the warm stream of my 
young blood with despair. I had been excited — agitated — almost 
maddened with the certainty of being a murderer ; but there was 
something of human passion in those tumultuous feelings. But 
the certainty that I was not only a murderer, but a parricide — had 
killed ray own father for the sake of a few hundred pounds, which 
I now knew that I could never enjoy — chilled me into a stupid, 
hardened apathy. There could be no forgiveness for a crime like 
mine, neither in this world — neither in the world to come. 

I could have cursed my wretched mother for having so long con- 
cealed from me an important fact, which, if known, had saved the 
life of her worthless paramour. Her silence might have been the 
effect of shame. But no — when I recalled the frequency of Mr. 
Carlos’ visits, his uniform kindness to me, the very last conversa- 
tion T held with him, and the dark hints that from time to time 
Bill Martin had so insultingly thrown out, it convinced me that she 
had all along been living with him on terms of the most abandoned 
intimacy, and that her crime had been the parent of my own. 
Yet, in spite of these bitter recriminations, when I raised my eyes 
to her, and met her sad, pleading, tearful glance, all my love for 
her returned ; and clasping her knees, as I still sat upon the ground 
at her feet, I said, “ Mother, why did you keep this guilty secret 
from me for so many years? I should have felt and acted very 
differently towards that unhappy man, if I had known that he was 
my father.” 

“Noah, it is hard to acknowledge one's sin to one’s own child 


FLORA LYXDSAY. 


295 


It is a sin, however, that I have been bitterly punished for oom* 
mitting.” 

“ But you still continued to live on those terms with him ?” 

‘‘ Alas, Noah, I loved him !” 

She threw her apron over her head, and sobbed as if her heart 
would burst. 

‘‘ I will show you, mother, how one crime produces another,” I 
was about to say, when a loud rap at the door recalled my self- 
possession, and I was summoned to attend the sitting of the magis- 
trates, and tell all I knew about the murder. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 

A LAST LOOK AT OLD FRIENDS. 

I MADE my deposition minutely and circumstantially, from the 
time of my conversation with Adam Hows until the time when, 
accompanied by George Norton, we encountered him and Bill 
Martin in the plantations, and took the latter prisoner. My state- 
ment was so clear, so plausible, so perfectly matter-of-fact, that this 
hideous lie was received by wise and well-educated men as God’s 
truth. I heard myself spoken of as a sober, excellent young man, 
well worthy of the confidence and afiection of the Squire, and 
extremely grateful for the many favors he had bestowed upon me ; 

. while the character that Martin bore, and his previous pursuits, 
1 were enough to condemn him, independent of the startling evidence 
I that I, and others from among his own wild companions, had given 
' against him. A conversation that one of these men had accident- 
ally heard between him and Adam Hows, proclaiming their inten- 
tion to rob and murder Mr. Carlos, was, indeed, more conclusive 
of their guilt than my own account, though that was sufficient to 
have hung him twice over. 

Bill kept his eye fixed on me during the examination. I met it 
with a degree of outward calmness ; but it thrilled me to the soul, 
and has haunted me ever since. He made no attempt at vindica- 
tion. He said that the evidence brought against him was circum- 
stantially correct, yet, for all that, neither he nor his accomplice had 
actually murdered the Squire, and that God, who looked deeper 
than man, knew that what he said was true. 


296 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Of course no one listened to such an absurd statement. But, tc 
cut this painful part of my story short — for it is aguny to dweD 
upon it — he was tried, sentenced, and condemned, and linally exe- 
cuted at . I saw him hung. 

Yes, Reader, you may well start back from the page in horror 
To be sure that my victim was dead, I actually witnessed his la.st. 
struggles, and returned home satisfied that the tongue I most fearer? 
upon earth — the only living creature who suspected my guilt — wo^ 
silenced and cold for ever. 

Shallow fool that I was. Conscience never sleeps ! The voice 
of remorse sounds up from the lowest deeps, with the clang of the 
archangel’s trump blasting the guilty ear with its judgment-peai. 
With him, my peace of mind, self-respect, and hopes of heaven, van- 
ished for ever I 

I have since often thought, that God gave me this last chance in 
order to try me — to see if any good remained in me — if I could tor 
once resist temptation, and act towards Martin as an honest man. 
1 have felt, amid the burning agonies of my sleepless, phantom- 
haunted nights, that, had I confessed my guilt and saved him from 
destruction, the same pity that Christ extended to the thief on the 
cross, might have been shown to me. 

These dreadful events were the beginning of sorrows. When Mr. 
Walter came to the Hall to attend his uncle’s funeral, and the will 
of the deceased was opened by the man of business, and read to him 
after the melancholy ceremony was over, it was found that Mr. 
Carlos had named me in this document as his natural son by Anne 
Cotton, and had left me the house in which I now live, together with 
the fifty acres adjoining, and two thousand pounds in the funds — 
the interest of the latter to be devoted to my mother during her 
life, but both principal and interest to devolve to me at her deatfi. 

This handsome legacy seemed to console my mother a great deal 
for the loss of her wealthy lover ; but it only served to debase me 
lower in my own eyes, and deepen the pangs of remorse. How 
gladly would I have quitted this part of the country I but I w^as sc 
haunted by the fear of detection, that I was afraid lest it might 
awaken suspicions in the minds of poor neighbors. On every hand 
I heard that the Squire had made a gentleman of Noah Cotton, 
while I cursed the money in my heart, and would thankfully have 
exchanged my lot with the poorest emigrant that ever crossed the 
seas in search of a new home. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


297 


The property bequeathed me by the Squire was a mile from the 
village, in an opposite direction to the porter’s lodge. My mother 
quitted our old home with reluctance ; but I was glad to leave a 
place which was associated in my mind with such terrible recol- 
lections. 

The night before we removed to the Torched House — for so my 
new home was called — I waited until after my mother had retired 
to her bed, and then carefully removed from its hiding-place the 
';:ack and its fatal contents. The wagoner’s frock and hat, together 
with the sack, I burned in a field at the back of the Lodge, and 
then slunk back, like a guilty wretch, under cover of night and 
darkness, to my own chamber. It was some time before I could 
muster sufficient courage to open the pocket-book. It felt damp 
and clammy in my grasp. It had been saturated with his blood ; 
and the roll of bank notes were dyed with the same dull red hue. I 
did not unroll them. A ghastly sickness stole over me whenever my 
eye fell upon them. I seemed distinctly to trace his dying face in 
those horrible stains — that last look of blank surprise and unutter- 
able woe with which he regarded me when he recognised in me his 
murderer ! 

It was necessary to put out of sight these memorials of my guilt. 
I would have burnt them, but I could not bring my heart to destroy 
such a large sum of money ; neither could I dare to make use of 
it. An old bureau had been purchased by my mother at a sale : 
she had given it to me, for a receptacle of books and papers. I 
possessed so few of these, that I generally kept my shooting appa- 
ratus in its many odd nooks and drawers. While stowing away 
these, I had discovered a secret spring, which covered a place ot 
concealment, in which some hoarder of by-gone days had treasured 
a few guineas of the reign of the third George. These I had appro- 
priated to my own use, and had considered them a godsend at the 
time. Into this drawer I now thrust the blood-stained pocket- 
book and the useless wealth it contained. Never since that hour 
have I drawn it from its hiding-place. My earnest wish is, that 
when I am gone to my last account, this money may be restored to 
the family to whom it rightfully -belongs. 

When I settled upon the farm, it afforded me a good pretext to 
give up my situation as gamekeeper. Mr. Walter, now Sir Walter 
Carlos, had just come to reside at the Hall, and, being a great 
sportsman, he was very unwilling to dispense with my services. 


298 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Wait ai least, Noah,” he said, “ until after the shooting season 
is over. I expect my sister Ella and her husband, and a large 
party down next week. No one can point out the best haunts of 
the game like you. This will give me time to procure some one in 
your place.” 

I named George Norton as a fitting person to fill the vacant situa- 
tion. He promised to appoint him in my place, but insisted on 
my staying with him until the end of October. 

Eeluctantly I complied. The words he had carelessly spoken 
respecting his sister, had sent a fresh arrow through my heart. 
She, for whose sake I had committed that fearful deed, in the hope 
of acquiring wealth, was now the bride of another. How had I 
dared to form a hope that one so far removed from me by birth and 
education would ever condescend to cast one thought on me ? Blind 
fool that I had been ! I was conscious of my madness now, when 
I had forfeited my own soul to obtain the smiles of one who could 
never be mine. 

The gay party arrived in due time at the Hall, and Sir Walter 
forgot its old possessor, the friend of his boyhood, the gay, royster- 
ing, reckless man who slept so quietly in the old churchyard, while 
pursuing his favorite sport. 

Captain Manners, the husband of my beautiful Ella, was a fine, 
dashing-looking officer, and I felt bitterly jealous of him whenever 
I saw him and his young bride together. In spite of her sables, 
she was all smiles and sunshine — the life and soul of the party at 
the Hall. 

One fine afternoon — I shall never forget it ! — I was following 
the gentlemen with the dogs, when we came to the fatal spot where 
Mr. Carlos had been murdered. 

I had never trod that path since the night of his death, though, 
in my dreams, I constantly revisited the spot, and enacted the 
revolting scene in all its terrible details. But there was no avoid- 
ing it now. I felt as if every eye was upon me, and I stooped to 
caress the dogs, in order to conceal the agitation that trembled 
through my frame. 

Just as we drew near the gate, Sir W’^alter fired at a partridge, 
which fell among the long fern just at my side. 

“ Hullo, Noah ! pick up that bird. Tis a splendid cock,” cried 
8ir Walter. 

I parted the fern with trembling hands to <lo his bidding. Tlie 


FLORA LYNDSA’i' . 




bird lay dead on the very stone over which my uiiliappy father's 
life-blood had gushed. I saw the fresh, warm drops that had flowed 
from the breast of the bird, but beneath was a darker stain. 1 
tried in vain to lift the creature from the ground. Before me lay 
the bleeding, prostrate form of Mr. Carlos, with the tender reproach 
gleaming in his eyes through the deepening mists of death. My 
senses reeled — I saw no more — I sank down in a fit, — the first of 
those dreadful epileptic fits which have since been of such constant 
recurrence. 

When I recovered. Sir Walter was supporting me, and Mrs. 
Manners, who had followed her husband to the field, was fanning 
me with a small branch of sycamore leaves. 

“ He’s coming to,” she said, in a gentle voice. Why Noah,” — 
addressing herself to me— “ what ails you ? Were you ever this 
way before?” 

I answered very faintly, “ No ; but I had not been well for some 
time past. And when I stooped to lift the bird, every object seemed 
to turn round with me, and looked first red and then black — and I 
remembered nothing more.” 

“ You must be bled, Noah,” said Sir Walter, kindly ; this is a 
clear case of blood to the head. Go home, and I will send Dr. Pin- 
siock to see you as I return to the Hall.” 

“ I am better now,” I replied, glancing towards Mrs. Manners, 
who was regarding me with looks of interest and compassion. To 
tell you the truth. Sir Walter, I have not felt like myself since Mr. 
Carlos was killed. It gave me a dreadful shock. It was on this 
very spot where he was murdered. That stone is stained with his 
blood. When I saw it just now, it brought the whole scene so viv- 
idly before me, that it made me ill.* 

“No wonder,*’ said Ella, thoughtfully. “ My poor dear uncle ! 
He was the best-hearted man in the world — and was so fond of you, 
Noah.” 

“ He had a good right to be,” returned Sir Walter. “ You are 
not perhaps aware, Ella,” he added, in a low voice, “ that our friend 

oah is his son.” 

“ Indeed !” cried she ; “ that accounts for the affection we both 
felt for him when a boy — the interest we feel him still.” 

“ I wish I was more deserving of your good opinion,” I said 
“ But believe me, Mrs. Manners, I shall retain, during my life, 
grateful remembrance of your kindne-ss.” 


300 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


T lifted my hat with profound respect, and looked long and sadly 
upon her — it was for the last time — (she followed her husband to 
India, and I never saw her again) : and, whistling to my dogs, 
pursued my solitary way. 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

MY MOTHER AND THE SQUIRE. 

From that hour I became a prey to constant remorse. 
health declined, and my mother at last remarked the change in my 
appearance ; but at that time I am certain she had no idea of the 
cause. 

“ Noah,” she said, one night, as we were crouching over the fire, 
for it was winter, and very cold — “ you are much changed of late. 
You look ill, and out of spirits ; you eat little, and speak less. My 
dear son, what in the world ails you ?” 

‘‘ I am tired of this place, mother. I should like to sell off, and 
go to America.” 

“ And leave me for ever?” 

“ You, of course, would go with me.” 

“ Never !” said my mother, emphatically. “ Of all places in the 
world, I cannot go there.” 

I looked up inquiringly. 

“ I will give you my reasons,” she continued. “ Listen to me, 
Noah. I have never told you anything about myself ; but, before 
I die, it is only right that you should know all. My husband, 
whose name you bear, is not, to my knowledge, dead ; if living, he 
is in America.” 

Oh, that I had been his son !” I groaned. “ But, mother, pro- 
ceed — proceed.” 

“ To make matters intelligible to you, it is necessary that I shoul ^ 
go back to my early days. I was the only child of a poor shoe- 
maker in St. Alban’s. My father was reckoned a good hand at his 
trade, but he was sadly addicted to drink ; for ten years before he 
died, I never remember his going one night to his bed sober. My 
poor mother was a neat, quiet little woman, who did all in her 
power to keep things straight. But first one piece of household 
furniture went, and then another, until we were left with bare walls 
and an empty cupboard. 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


301 


. ‘‘ ‘Annie,’ said my mother, ‘this won’t do. You must go out 
and work for your living ; you cannot stay at home and starve.* 

“ ‘ And you, mother V 

“ ‘ God will take care of me, my child. I cannot leave your 
father ; I must work for him — ^lie is my husband ; and, in spite of 
this dreadful vice, I love him still.’ 

“ Her constancy and patient endurance, under a thousand priva- 
tions, was wonderful. 

* I was reckoned a very pretty girl ; all the neighbors said so, 
and I thought so myself. They were sorry for our altered circum- 
stances. They respected my mother ; and, though they blamed my 
father, they pitied him as well as blamed — (he had been a general 
favorite before he became lost to himself and us) — and did all in 
their power to assist my mother in her distress. One of these sym- 
pathising friends was the dressmaker employed by the great lady of 
the parish. This woman got me into service as waiting-maid to 
the young ladies of the Grange. 

“ Miss Elinor Landsmeer was on the eve of marriage with Mr 
Carlos ; and she used to talk to me a great deal about her lover, 
while I was dressing her hair of a night ‘ He was so handsome,’ 
she said, ‘ so good-natured and merry. He danced and sang so 
well, rode so gallantly, and was such a capital shot. He was ad- 
mired and courted by all the ladies ; and she considered herself the 
most fortunate girl in the world to have secured the affections of 
such a charming young man. And then, Annie, besides all these 
advantages of person and manners, he is so rich — so immensely richf 
he can indulge me in my taste for pictures, and books, and dress, 
without ruining himself. Oh, I shall be so happy — so happy ! — 
and then she would clap her little white hands, and laugh in child- 
ish glee. And very young she was, and very pretty too ; — not a 
showy sort of beauty, but soft and gentle, — not gay and dashing, 
like some of her elder sisters. They were all engaged to men of 
rank and fashion ; and they laughed at Miss Elinor for marrying an 
untitled man. But she was so much in love with Mr. Carlos, that 
she was as happy as a lark. 

“ When I saw Mr. Carlos, I thought she was, indeed, a fortunate 
young lady ; and I could not help envying her the handsome rich 
lover who was so soon to make her his bride. 

“ I always liked waiting on my pretty young lady ; but I felt a 
double pleasure in doing so when Mr. Carlos was by. He often 


ri.ORA LYNDSAY. 


go^r 

joked Miss Elinor on my good looks, and would ask her ‘ if she 
was not jealous of her pretty waiting-maid V 

‘ Oh, no,’ she would laughingly reply. ‘ I am like you, Wal- 
ter, — I don’t like ugly people about me. Annie is ai: good as she 
looks. Cannot you find a good husband for her among your 
tenants ?’ 

“ ‘ I’ll do my best,’ he said, in the same bantering tone. ‘ By- 
the-bye, Annie — if that is your name — what do you think of my 
valet, Mr. Noah Cotton?’ 

“ ‘ What an antiquated name !’ — and my mistress laughed out. 
‘ Was he brought up in the Ark ?’ 

“ ‘ Names go by contraries, my dear,’ said Mr. Carlos. ‘ Noah 
is a deuced handsome fellow ; not soft, as his name would imply* 
but shrewd and clever — as sharp as a needle. I think he would 
suit Annie exactly ; and you and I will stand godfather and god- 
mother for all the little Shems, Hams, and Japhets they may hap- 
pen to place in their ark.” 

“ ^ Fie, Walter, fie ! You make Annie blush like a rose. Look 
at him, Annie, the next time he comes in, and tell me what you 
think of ^he fine husband Mr. Carlos has provided for you.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, Miss Elinor,’ I cried, dropping a low courtsey, ‘ it is very 
kind of Mr. Carlos ; but I never look at the servants. I am too 
young to marry.’ 

“ But I did look at Mr. Cotton. He was very attentive to me, 
and I soon thought him all that his master had said he was. I did 
not love him, but I foolishly imagined that it was a fine thing to 
have a sweetheart, and to be married, like my young mistress. And 
Noah Cotton was a farmer’s son, and better educated than most 
people in our class. He had a good place, and was a great favorite 
with his master, and could afibrd to keep me very comfortably. So, 
when he told me that he preferred me to all the girls he had ever 
seen, and asked me to marry him, I said that I would consult my 
mistress, and, if she approved of it, I had not the least objection. 
Miss Elinor was enchanted with it. She said it w^ould be capital ; 
that we should be married on the same day with her and Mr. Car- 
los ; that she would buy my wedding-suit, and the Squire w ould 
pay the parson the fees ; and that we should go with them abroad, 
in the same capacity we then held. 

“ And it all took place as she promised. I w^as dressed in whitts 
muslin, trimmed with white ribbons, and just one moss rose-bud in 


FT.ORA LYXDSAY. 


BOS 

my om, f .nd another in my hair. Miss Elinor put them in her* 
self; and then, when I was dressed, she took my hands in hers, and 
turned me all round, to see that all was neat and nice, and she kissed 
my forehead, and said that I looked charming — that any man might 
be proud of such a little wife ; and she called her own bridegroom 
into her dressing-room, to come and look at me before I went to 
church. 

Mr. Carlos seemed quite struck with my appearance, and 
declared ‘that I looked as handsome as my mistress — that Noah 
was a very fortunate fellow ; and if he had not been going to marry 
his own dear Elinor, he would have married me himself.’ 

“ This was all a joke then. My mistress did not like it, however. 
She did not laugh, and looked very grave for some minutes, and 
was very hard to please for some days after the wedding. 

“ It did not strike me then, for I was too happy and too vain to 
think of anything but myself ; but it has often struck me since that 
Mrs. Carlos was jealous of me from that hour. 

“ Mr. Carlos took his bride to ItaW, and we went with them to 
a great many dijSerent countries ana arge cities It was rather 
dull for me, for I could not speak the strange outlandish lingo of 
those foreign lands ; and by the time one began to know a few 
words, we were off to another place, where we were as ignorant as 
we were before. 

“ After the first three months of our marriage, my husband grew 
very cross, and was jealous of every man who spoke civilly to me, 
though. Cod knows, at that time I was very fond of him, and never 
gave him the least cause for his suspicions. He w'as an obstinate, 
stern-tempered man, a strict Presbyterian, and very averse to any 
innocent amusements, in which I greatly delighted. Thus matters 
went on from day to day, until I not only ceased to love him, but 
wished, from my very heart, that I had never married him. I no 
longer tried to please him, but did all in my power to vex and 
aggravate him, in the hope that he would put a favorite threat of 
his in practice, and run away and leave me. 

“ My master always reprimanded my husband when he spoke 
sharply to me, and told him that he was not worthy of such a 
treasure ; but his interference only made matters worse. 

“ I often complained to Mrs. Carlos of Noah’s cruel treatment, 
but she always excused him, and said that it was I that was to 
blame ; that I made crimes out of every little freak oi ^emper, and 


S04 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


that instead of conciliating my husband, I made the breach wider 
by insults and reproaches, and took no pains to please him ; that 
if she were to behave in the same way to Mr. Carlos, she should 
not wonder at his disliking her. 

“ These observations wounded my pride. I thought them cruel 
and unjust, and I left her room in tears. Mr. Carlos met me on 
the stairs. I was crying bitterly, partly out of anger, and partly 
in the hope of making my mistress sorry for what she had said. 

He asked me what grieved me so, and 1 told him how I had been 
treated by Noah, and described in exaggerated terms the reproof I 
had got from his wife. Mr. Carlos pinched my cheek and told me 
to dry my eyes, for crying spoilt my beauty ; and not to care for 
what Noah or my mistress said to me ; that he was my friend, and 
loved and respected me too much to suffer me to be ill-used. 

“ I felt proud of my master’s sympathy, and lost no opportunity 
to increase it, and attract his attention. You may guess, my son, 
how all this ended. My master conceived a violent passion for me, 
which I was not slow in returning, and we carried on our intimacy 
with such circumspection, that for two years it escaped the vigilant 
eyes of my husband, and the fretful jealousy of my mistress. The 
fear of detection made me very cautious in the presence of the 
injured parties. I appeared more anxious to please my mistress, 
and more distant and respectful to Mr. Carlos, while I bore with 
apparent patience and resignation the ill-humor of my now detest- 
ed husband. For the above-named period, both were deceived, and 
it was during this season of crime and hypocrisy that you, my son, 
were born. The startling resemblance you bore to your real father 
did not escape my husband's observation, and called forth some of 
his bitterest remarks. 

“ I, for my part, swore that the child was the image of him ; and 
in order to lull his suspicions, conferred upon it the odious and 
hated name of Noah. 

“ My mistress often visited my chamber during my confinement. 
Once, she brought Mr. Carlos with her to see the baby. / It is a 
beatiful little cherub !' he cried, kissing it with all his heart in In^ 
3yes, ‘ the picture of Annie.” 

“ You will laugh at me, Walter,” said my mistress gravely, “ but 
I think the child is so like you.” 

“ She looked him steadily in the face as she said this. I thought 
he would have let the babe drop, he did so stammer and color as he 


FLORA LYND3AY. 


305 


tried to laugh her words off as a good joke. As to me, my fa^e 
burnt like fire, and I drew up the bed-clothes in order to conceal it. 
She looked first at me, and then at Mr. Carlos. There needed no 
further witness of our guilt. We were both convicted by con- 
science, yet boldly endeavored to affect indifference.” 

‘‘I see how it is,” she said, bursting into tears, “you have both 
cruelly wi’onged me. Yet. for this poor babe’s sake, I pray God to 
forgive you.” 

“ She kissed the infant with great tenderness, (she never had one 
of her own,) laid it in the bed beside me, and withdrew in tears. 
My heart smote me, and I wept too. The Squire bent over me, 
and kissing the tears from my eyes, said in a whisper, ‘Annie, the 
cat is out of the bag. My darling, you cannot stay here. I will 
get a carriage and take you to London. You will be well taken 
care of, and 1 can see you whenever I like, without the painful 
restraint we are forced to put upon our actions here.” 

“ I did not answer. I was sorry for my mistress, and ashamed 
of my own base conduct. At that moment I almost felt as if I 
hated him.” 

“ It was some days before I was able to be moved from my bed ; 
but I saw my mistress no more. The girl who waited upon me, and 
who was well paid by Mr. Carlos for her attendance, told me that 
she was very ill, that the doctor visited her twice a day, and said 
that she must be kept very quiet, and nothing said or done to agi- 
tate her feelings ; that she believed her sickness was occasioned by 
a quarrel she had had with Mr. Carlos, but she did not know what 
it was all about ; the Squire had left her room in a great rage, and 
was gone from home for a week. 

“I felt certain that I was the cause of this illness, and that the 
quarrel was about me, which made me very anxious to leave the 
house. 

“ That evening my husband came in to see me. Ke had been 
drinking freely. He sat down by the bed-side and looked cross and 
moodily at me. The baby began to cry, and I asked him to hold 
it for me a minute.” 

“ ‘ The hateful bratl’ he said, ‘ I would rather wring its neck 

“ ‘ What an affectionate father 1’ I cried. 

“ ‘ Father !’ he burst out, in a voice of thunder. ‘ Will you dare 
to call me the father of this child V 

“ ‘Of course it is your 3hild.’ 


S06 


FLOIU LYNDSAY. 


** ‘ Annie, ’tis a base lie !’ lie said, bending down to my j dlow and 
hissing the words into my ear ; ‘ Mr. Carlos is the father of this 
child, and you cannot look me in the face and deny it. Has not 
God brought against you a witness of your guilt in the face of this 
bastard, whom you have called by my name, to add insult to injury. 
I could kill both you and it, did I not know that that would be but 
a po.jr revenge. No ; live to deserve his scorn as you have done 
to deserve mine, and may this child be your punishment and curse !• 
‘‘ I cowered before his just and furious anger. I saw it was 
useless longer to deny the truth, still more useless to entreat his for- 
giveness for the injury I had done him ; and I drew a freer breath 
when he tauntingly informed me, ‘ that this meeting was our last ; 
that he no longer looked upon me as his wife ; that he had loved 
me faithfully, and I had dishonored him ; and he had taken his pas- 
sage for America, and would leave England for ever the next morn 
ing.’ 

‘‘ He was true to his word. He left me with hatred in his heart 
and scorn upon his lips, and I have never heard from him or seen 
him since. 

Mr. Carlos and I rejoiced at his departure, for he was the only 
person from whose anger we had anything to dread. . My poor mis- 
tress suffered in silence. She never made her wrongs known to her 
own family or to the world. 

Mr. Carlos hired lodgings for me in London, where I lived until 
his wife died, which event took place a few weeks after I quitted 
the house. Her death, for awhile, greatly affected the Squire, and 
for several months he appeared restless and unhappy. Once he said 
to me very sorrowfully — it was a few days after her funeral — ‘ Annie, 
my wife was an angel. My love for you broke her heart. With 
her last breath she forgave me, and begged me to be kind to you 
and the child. I was not worthy of her. I wish from my very soul 
that I had never seen you.* 

These words made me very unhappy, for I adored Mr. Carlos, 
and dreaded the least diminution of his regard ; and T could not help 
feeling deep remorse for the share I had had in the untimely death 
of my beautiful young mistress. I grew sad and melancholy, and 
Mr. Carlos, who really loved me and my child better than anything 
in the world, and would have married me had my husband’s death 
rendered that event possible, brought me down to F , and estab- 

lished me at the porter’s lodge, where he could see and converse 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


m 


with me every day. It was well-known in the neighborhood on 
what footing I stood with the Squire, though you, my poor boy, 
never suspected the fact. You may now perceive, Noah, how great 
has been our loss in Mr. Carlos. I have lost a kind friend and pro- 
tector, a husband in everything but the name, and you an affection- 
ate friend and father. Do not urge me to leave this place. When 
I die I wish my bones to lie in the same churchyard with his, 
although his rank hinders me from sharing his grave. 

My mother ceased speaking, and sat with her hands folded com- 
placently in her lap, and I glared upon her for some time in gloomy 
silence. She appeared tranquil, scarcely conscious of the crimes 
she had committed. Was she not as much a murderess as I was a 
murderer, with only this difference, that I had struck ray victim 
suddenly and quickly, she had tortured hers foi two whole years, 
until she sank broken-hearted into an early grave ; and had not her 
sin been the parent of my own ? Then I thought of her husband’s 
terrible curse, “ May that child live to be your punishment !” Was 
not the fearful prediction already fulfilled, although she was igno- 
rant of it ? I cannot say that I felt glad that she was no ^better 
than her son, but it seemed a palliation of my own guilt. 

My mother was annoyed by my long silence. 

“ What are you thinking about, Noah?” 

‘‘ The shocking story you have just told me. I did not think 
it possible, mother, that you could be so bad.” 

“ What do you mean ?” she cried out, angrily. 

I mean what I say. If this story does not lower you in your 
own eyes, it does in mine. Mother, I have always respected and 
venerated you till this moment ; I can do so no longer. For, mark 
me, mother, as the tree is, so is the fruit. How can you expect 
me, the offspring of such gulH, ever to be a good man ?” 

“ Noah, this is strange language from you. Thank God I you 
have done nothing at present to cause me shame or reproach.” 

“You don’t know what I have done — what this confession of 
yours may tempt me to do. God knows, I would rather have been 
the son of the despised and injured man whose name I bear, than 
the bastard of the silken reprobate it was your shame to love.” 

“ Oh, Noah ! do not speak thus of your own father. 

“ Curse him ! He has already mf t with hi« reward. And 
sin, mother, will yet find you out.” 


flora lyndsay. 


m 

I sprang from my chair to leave the room — my mother laid net 
hand upon my arm — her eyes were brimful of tears. 

“ Noah, I have not deserved this treatment from you. What* 
ever my faults may have been, I have been a kind mother to you.” 

She looked so piteous through her tears, that, savage as I felt, 
my heart reproached me for my harsh, cruel speech. I kissed her 
pale cheek and sighed, “ I forgive you, my poor mother. I would 
that God could as easily pardon us both ; but He is just as well as 
merciful, and we are great sinne*s.” 

She looked inquiringly at me, as I lighted the candle and strode 
np to bed. 


CHAPTER XUX. 

EVIL THOUGHTS — THE PANGS OP REMORSE. 

All day I toiled hard on my farm to drown evil thoughts. If I 
relaxed the least from my labor, the tempter was ever at hand, urg- 
ing me to commit fresh crimes ; and night brought with it horrors 
that I dared not think of in the broad light of day. I no longer 
cared for wealth. The hope of distinguishing myself in the world 
had died out of my heart. But industry always brings a reward 
for toil ; and in spite of my indifference, money accumulated, and I 
grew rich. 

My household expenses were so moderate (for I shunned all 
society), that every year I put by a large sum, little caring by 
whom it might hereafter be spent. My mother sometimes urged 
me to marry, but I slighted her advice on that head. The history 
of her wedded ^fe was enough to make me eschew the yoke of 
matrimony. 

My old craze for leaving the country was still as strong as ever ; 
but I had given a solemn promise to my mother to remain in Eng- 
land as long as she lived. Often as I sat opposite to her in the 
winter evenings, I wished it would please God to take her. . It was 
very wicked ; but I never couM meet her eyes without fearing lest 
she should read my dreadful secret in the guilty gloom of mine. I 
had loved her so devotedly when a boy, tha+- these sinful thoughts 
were little less than murder. 

There was one other person whom I always dreaded to meet, and 
that was Mrs. Martin, the mother of my unfortunate victim, 'rhis 


FLORA LYNDSAT. 


309 


woman never passed me on the road without looking me resolutely 
in the face. There was a something which I could scarcely define 
in her earnest regard ; it was a mixture of contempt and defiance 
— of malignity and a burning thirst for revenge. At any rate, I 
feared and hated her, and wished her either dead or out of my path. 

Fortunately for me, she heard of a situation likely to suit her in 
a distant parish, ^t lacked the means to transport herself and her 
little daugher thiiuer. I was so eager to get rid of her, that I sent 
her anonymously ten pounds to further that object. My mother 
and her gossips imagined the donation came from the Hall, and 
were loud in their praises of Sir Walter, and his generous present 
to the poor widow. But Sir Walter Carlos had no such motives 
as mine to stimulate his bounty. 

It was just about this period that I fell sick of a dangerous and 
highly infectious fever. The house was of course deserted. The 
doctor and my mother were the only persons who approached my 
sick-bed ; the latter had all the fatigue and anxiety of nursing me 
herself, and she did not shrink from the task. 

The good, the happy, the fortunate, the lovely, and the beloved, 
those to whom life is very dear, and the world a paradise, die, and 
are consigned by their weeping friends and kindred to the dust. 
But a despairing, heaven-abandoned, miserable wretch like me, 
struggled through the horrors of that waking night-mare of agony^ 
the typhus fever, and once more recovered to the consciousness of 
unutterable woe. 

Delirium, like wine, lays bare the heart, and shows all its weak- 
ness and its guilt, revealing secrets which the possessor has for half 
a life carefully hid. This, I doubt not, was my case, although no 
human lip ever revealed to me the fact. 

When I left my bed, I found my mother gliding about the house, 
the very spectre of her former self. Her beautiful auburn hair, of 
which she was so proud, and which, when a boy, I used to admire 
BO much in its glossy bands, was as white as snow. Her bright, 
blue loving eye had lost all its fire, and looked dim and hopeless, 
like the eyes of the dead. Alarmed at her appearance, I demanded 
if she was ill. 

She shook her head, and said, that her anxiety during my ill- 
ness had sadly pulled her down. But I need not ask any questions. 
God had humbled her greatly. Her sin had found her out.” And 


SIO 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


then she hurried from me, and I heard her weeping hysterically in 
her own room. 

“ Could I have betrayed myself during the ravings of fever ?” I 
trembled at the thought ; but I dared not ask. 

After this, no confidence existed between me and my mother. 
During the day I labored in the field, and we saw little of each 
other. At night, we sat for hours in silence — I with a book, and 
she with her work — without uttering a word. Both seemed unwil- 
ling to part company and go to bed, but we lacked the moral cour- 
age to disclose the sorrow that was secretly consuming us. 

Years passed on in this cheerless manner — this living death. My 
mother at length roused herself from the stupor of despair. She 
read the Bible earnestly, constantly ; she wept and prayed, she went 
regularly to chapel, and got what the Methodists call religion. 
Her repentance was deep and sincere; she gradually grew more 
cheerful, and would talk to me of the change she had experienced, 
urging me, in the most pathetic manner, to confess my sins to God, 
and sue for pardon and peace through the blood of the Saviour. My 
heart was closed to conviction — I could neither read nor pray. 
The only thing from which I derived the least comfort was in send- 
ing from time to time, large sums of money anonymously to Sir 
Walter Carlos, to relieve him from difficulties to which he was 
often exposed by his reckless extravagance. 

The beautiful Ella, the idol of my boyhood and youth, died in 
India. I heard the news with indifference ; but when I saw the 
lovely orphan girl she had left to the guardianship of her brother, I 
wept bitter tears, for she reminded me of her mother at the same 
sinless age ; and the sight of her filled my mind with unutterable 
anguish, recalling those days of innocent glee that the corrosive 
poison of guilt had blotted from my memory. 

My Paradise was in the past, but the avenging angel guarded the 
closed gates with his flaming sword. My present was the gulf of 
black despair ; my future was a blank, or worse. Oh, agony of 
agonies ! — how have I contrived to endure so much, and yet live ? 

Death ! the good alone can contemplate death with composure. 
Guilt is a dreadful coward. The bad dare not die. My worst suf- 
ferings are comprised in this terrible dread of death. I have prayed 
for annihilation — but this ever-haunting fear of after punishment 
forbids me to hope for that. The black darkness — the soul-scorch- 
mg fire — the worm that never dies-— the yells of the d — --d : these 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


31 1 

I might learn to endure ; but this hell of conscience — this being 
cast out for ever from God and good — what obstinacy of will could 
ever teach me to bear this overwhelming, increasing sf^nse of ill ? 
****** * 

Ten long years have passed away ; the name of Squire Carlos is 
almost forgotten. People used to talk over his death at alehouses, 
and by the roadside, but they seldom speak of him now. A splerr 
did monument covers his mouldering dust. The farmers lounge 
around it on the Sabbath, and discuss their crops and the news of 
the village. They never glance at the marble slab, or read uhe tale 
it tells. The old Hall has passed into other hands. Sir Walter 
dissipated his inheritance, and died childless in a distant land. The 
lovely little girl is gone, no one knows whither. The homage of 
the rising generation is paid to the present Lord of the Manor, and 
the glory of the once proud family of Carlos is buried in the dust 
with the things that were. 

Why cannot I too forget ? This night, the anniversary of the 
accursed night on which I first shed blood, and that the blood of a 
father, is as vividly impressed upon my mind as though ten long 
years had not intervened. How terribly long have they been to me 1 
Is there no forgiveness for my crime? Will God take vengeance 
for ever ? 

My mother still lives, but her form droops earthward. Sad, 
silent and pale, her patient endurance is my perpetual reproach. I 
feel that my crime is known to her, that her punishment is as terri- 
ble as my own. I took up her Bible the other day from the little 
table on which she had left it, and unclosing the volume, my eyes 
were arrested by these awful words — “ The seed of the adulterous 
bed shall perish.” I felt that I was doomed — that the sins of my 
parents had been visited on me : and the horrible thought brought 
consolation. I am but a passive instrument in the hands of an in- 
exorable destiny. Why continue this struggle with fate ? Con- 
•cience will not be cheated. Night came, and the delusion vanished ; 
the horrors of remorse are upon me. I feel that I am responsible 
for the acts done in the flesh, that as a man sows, so must he reap.’* 
The bui'den of my soul is intolerable ; when shall I find rest ? 
******* 
Another year has vanished into the grave of time. My mother, 
my poor mother, is at last gone. She died calmly and full of hope. 
She told me that she knew all — had known it since my illness. The 


312 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Bad conviction of my guilt at first plunged her in despair, then 
Drought repentance, and repentance hope, forgiveness, peace. She 
had wept and prayed for me for years. She trusted that I should 
yet find mercy through my Saviour’s blood. 

It was not until she lay dead before me, that I knew how dear she 
was, what a dreadful blank her absence made in my home. I no 
longer had her eye to dread ; but, like the little children who huddle 
together in the dark, was afraid of being alone — afraid even in 
noon-day, of something, I knew not what. 

Benjamin, the old servant who has lived with me ever since I 
came to the Porched House, grieves with me over the loss of a 
kind mistress. I used to be sullen and reserved to honest Ben > 
I am glad to talk to him for companionship. My dog, too, has 
become inexpressibly dear ; he sleeps at the foot of my bed at night. 
Oh, that he could scare away the demons that haunt my pillow ! 
Ben advises me to take a wife. He says that I should be happier 
vith a young woman to look after the house. He may be right, 
lut, alas I what can I do ? Will any woman whom I could love 
ondescend to unite her destiny with an old, care-worn man like me ? 

The iron hand of remorse has bent my once active figure, and 
irned my dark locks grey before my time. How can I ask a young 
^^'irl to love and obey me ? 

Tush! — I have wealth, — who knows my guilt? Have I not 
kept the secret for years? Can I not keep it still? A good 
woman might lead me to repent, and teach me how to pray. I 
FnJl marry. 

***** 

■ lovidence, if Providence still watches over a wretch like me, 
flinrown a lovely, simple girl in my way. The evil spirit was 
p f m w/ath of God spoke in tones of thunder, and the mur- 

atooJ visibly before me face to face. Nature and reason 
yielded to the gbock, iwd the fatal secret trembled on my lips. In 
that hour of mental agony, she did not disdain to take me to her 
humble home, to soothe hckI c(Mn.^:>rt the fear-stricken stranger. 
My heart is melted with love and gTAiltude. I feel a boy once 
more, and the sins of my manhood are lost in the dim shadows 
of by-gone years. 

***** 

She is mine ! She regards me as her bmefactor. My Sophy — 
my darling wife ! She is the good angel sent by a relenting God 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


313 


to snatch me from perdition ! My heart cleaves to my new-found 
treasure, and, wonder of wonders ! she loves me. Loves me — the 
murderer ! While her arms encircle me, the hot breath of the fiend 
ceases to scorch my brain. 

***** 

My felicity has been of short duration. The mother of Martin 
has returned, and is living in our immediate neighborhood. This 
bodes me no good. The raven of remorse is again flapping her 
black wings around my head. My sleep is haunted by frightful 
dreams. “ There is no peace for the wicked.” The sight of this 
woman fills me with dismay. 

* , * * * * 

My wife is unhappy. She does not Qomplain, but her cheeks are 
deadly pale, and she is wasted to a shadow. I dare not inquire 
the cause of her grief. I remember the sad patient face of my 
mother, and I tremble lest Sophy has discovered my guilt. 
***** 

Oh God ! she knows it all. She asked me a question yesterday 
that has sealed my doom. Instead of falling at her feet and pour- 
ing out the sorrows of my heart, I spoke harshly to her — even 
threatened to strike her, if she alluded to the subject again. Will 
she be able to keep the dreadful secret ? I tremble before a young 
girl — dare not meet her eyes. If she breathes a word to the 
mother of Martin, I am lost. 

******* 

Here the felon’s manuscript abrubtly terminated. Sophy still 
held it tightly in her hand, although her eyes, now blinded with 
tears, were unable to trace a single letter of the concluding page. 

‘‘My poor husband 1” at last she sobbed, “the punishment of 
Cain was light when compared with yours. Oh I let me hope that 
He who willeth not the death of a sinner, has accepted your 
repentance and pardoned your sin.” 

A gentle grasp was laid upon the shoulder of the mourner, and 
she looked up into the dark, expressive face of the hunchback. 

She, too, had her tale of sorrow. Their mother was dead, but 
her end was peaceful and full of humble hope, and Mary, the pious 
Mary, could not wish her back. She had no home now — she had 
come to share the home of her more fortunate sister. At first, she 
could not comprehend the cause of Sophy’s tears, of her deep dis- 
tress; for the news of Noah Cotton’s arrest and death had not 

14 


314 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


reached her, while in close attendance upon the obscure death-bed 
of her mother. 

What a mournful history Sophy had to tell, and how deeply 
Mary sympathised in all her afflictions ! Left in comfortable and 
even affluent circumstances (for the lawyer employed to wind up 
Noah Cotton’s affairs found that he had large sums invested in 
several banks, and all his property was willed to his wife) , Sophy 
was no longer haunted by the dread of poverty, but she often was 
heard to say, with a sigh, that poverty, though a great evil, was 
not the greatest she had had to contend with ; that much as she 
had in former days murmured over her humble lot while working 
for daily bread, she was far happier than in the possession of wealth 
that had been acquired by dishonest means, and which might 
emphatically be called the wages of sin! “A little that the 
righteous hath is better than great riches of the ungodly.” 


CHAPTER L. 

TRUST IN GOD. 

A FEW words more, and my tale is ended. 

The death of Noah Cotton, fraught as it was with agony to his 
wife, was the means of rescuing the child of his first love, Ella 
Carlos, from ruin — the little girl, whose striking likeness to her 
mother had made such an impression on the mind of her unfortu- 
nate and guilty lover. After the death of Sir Walter Carlos, who 
was the last of his name, and, saving the young Ella Manners, his 

sister’s orphan child, the last of his race, the estate at F was 

sold to pay his debts, and the noble property, that had been several 
ages in the family, passed into the hands of strangers. The young 
Ella, left dependent upon the charity of an aunt of her father’s, 

married the curate of a small parish not many miles from H , 

in the county of S . The match was one of pure affection ; the 

beautiful young girl brought no fortune to her husband. Mr. 
Grant’s income was less than £150 per annum ; but in the eyes of 
love, it seemed sufficient for all their wants. Several years passed 
away, and the young couple, though obliged to dispense with most 
of the luxuries of life, did not repent the imprudent step they had 
taken. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


315 


Ella was the happy mother of three fine children, and she nearly 
doubled her husband’s slender income by teaching a small but select 
school. At length the day of trial came. Mr. Grant was taken 
ill, and was obliged to relinquish his parochial duties. Ella’s 
time was devoted entirely to her sick husband. The school was 
broken up, and after a long and severe affliction, which consumed 
all their little savings, the curate died deeply regretted by his flock, 
by whom he was justly beloved ; and such was the poverty of his 
circumstances, that his funeral and decent mourning for his wife 
and children, were furnished by subscription. After the melan- 
choly rite was over, the widow found herself and her young 
children utterly destitute. 

“ I have hands to work — I must not despair,” she said, as she 
divided the last morsel of bread she had among the children, 
reserving none for herself ; “ I have trusted in God all my life, 
and though it has come to this, I will trust in his mercy yet.” 

She sat down by the window, and looked sadly towards the 
churchyard. She could scarcely, as yet, realize the truth, that her 
husband was sleeping there, and that she, the cherished idol of his 
heart, had prayed for daily bread from the Great Father, and 
was fasting from sheer want. It was a bleak, cold day — the 
autumnal wind was stripping the sallow leaves from the trees, and 
roaring like a hungry demon among the shivering branches ; a 
little sparrow hopped upon the window-sill and relieved his hunger 
by picking up some grass-seeds that the children had gathered in 
the ear, and left by accident there — and while the poor mourner 
watched the bird through her tears, the text which so touchingly 
illustrates the providential care of the Creator, recurred to her 
memory “ Fear not, ye are of more value than many sparrows 
and she dried the tears from her eyes, and felt comforted. 

The postman’s sharp rap at the door roused her from her vision 
of hope and trust, and she was presented with a letter. Alas ! the 
postage was unpaid. To her, who had not a single penny, this was 
a severe disappointment. 

“John Hays, I cannot take in the letter.” 

“ Why not, ma’am ; I’m sure ’tis directed to you.” 

“Tes — but I have no money — I cannot pay the post.” 

“ ’Tis only a shilling.” 

“ It might as well be a pound, John. You must take it back.” 

“No, ma’am, that’s just what John Hays won’t do. I arn’t 


316 


FLORA LV^NDSAY. 


over rich myself, but I will trust you with the shilling, aud take 
my chance. That letter may bring you news of a for ten.” 

Mrs. Grant read the letter ; honest J ohn, leaning against the 
open door, eyed her all the while. At length she clasped her hands 
together and burst into tears. 

Oh lauk ! oh lauk I” he cried, shaking his head ; “ there’s no 
luck alter all.” 

Mrs. Grant shook him heartily by the hand. “Your money is 
safe, John ; the letter does contain good news — news most unex- 
pected and surprising. Thanks be to God ! no one ever trusted 
Him in vain.” 

The letter which gave such relief to her mind, was from the 
lawyer employed by Mrs. Cotton in arranging her husband’s 
affairs. It apprised Mrs. Grant of the sum of money found after 
his death in Noah Cotton’s bureau, to which she was the lawful 
heir, and requesting her for the necessary documents that would 
enable him to transfer it to her. 

This unhoped-for piece of good fortune enabled Mrs. Grant to 
emigrate with her children to Lower Canada, where a brother of 
Mr. Grant’s had been settled some years. She opened a school 
in one of the principal towns, and became a rich and prosper- 
ous woman. 

Her eldest son is now a surgeon in good practise ; her youngest 
a pious minister ; her daughter the wife of a respectable mer- 
chant. In the hour of adversity, let us cling close to the Great 
Father, and he will not leave us without daily bread. 


CHAPTER LI. 

FISHING ON THE BANKS. 

Flora finished her story, but she wanted courage to read it to 
her husband, who was very fastidious about his wife’s literary per- 
formances. And many long years passed away, and they had 
known great sorrows and trials in the Canadian wilderness, before 
she again brought the time-worn manuscript to light, and submit- 
ted it to his critical eye. 

And because it pleased him, she, with the vanity natural to her 
sex, to say nothing of the vanity so common to the author, thought 
that it might find favor with the public. 


! 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


317 


They had just reached the banks of Newfoundland, whin she 
commenced writing Noah Cotton, and tlie ship still lay there in 
rain and fog, when she brought it to a close. 

The condition of the Anne and her passengers was little to be 
envied. In the steerage, the provisions of the emigrants were nearly 
exhausted, and the allowance of execrable, stinking water was 
diminished to a pint a day per head. Famine already began to 
stare them in the face. They had been six weeks at sea, and the 
poorer emigrants had only provided necessaries for that period. 
The Captain was obliged to examine the stores that still remained, 
and to charge the people to make the most sparing use of them 
until they made land. 

The improvident, by this time, were utterly destitute, and were 
fed by the Captain, who made them pay what little they could 
towards their support. This, Mr. Lootie told them, was an act of 
tyranny, for the Captain was bound to feed them as long as he had 
a biscuit in the ship. Indeed, he lost no opportunity of fostering 
dissensions between Boreas and his people, and the difficult position 
in which the old sailor was placed was rendered doubly so by the 
mischievous and false representations of this base-minded man. 

The poor emigrants grew discontented, as their wants daily 
increased, and had no longer spirits to dance and enjoy themselves ; 
yet some sort of excitement seemed absolutely necessary to keep 
their minds from preying, upon themselves and each other. 

Now would have been the time for Mr. S to have proved 

his Christian ministry, and tried by his advice, and the gentle appli- 
cation of that unerring balsam for all diseases of mind and body, 
the Word of God, to reconcile these poor people to their situation, 
and teach them to bear with fortitude the further trials to which 
they might be exposed. 

But at this critical period of the voyage, he kept aloof, and sel- 
dom made his appearance upon the deck, or if he did steal out for 
a constitutional promenade, he rarely exchanged a salutation with 
the passengers. 

Not so Mr. Lootie. The little brown man had roused himself 
from his lair, and was all alive. He might constantly be seen near the 
forecastle, surrounded by a set of half-famished young fellows, en- 
joying a low species of gambling, well known to school-boys as 
“ Pitch and Toss,” “ Chuck Farthing,” and other equally elegant 
terms, quite worthy of the amusement. 


318 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


There are some minds so base, that they only require a combina- 
tion of circumstances, to show to what depths of meanness they 
can stoop. 

Mr. Lootie’s was a mind of this class. He felt no remorse in 
replenishing his pockets from the scanty resources of these poor 
emigrants, joining in the lowest species of gambling, in order to 
win their money, part of which, as a sort of excuse to himself, he 
expended in liquor, in order to reconcile his victims to their loss. 
For with very few exceptions, he was always the winner. 

Even the solitary sixpence, the sole fortune of the brother Muck- 
leroys, found its way into the pocket of the rapacious defaulter. 

Flora watched these proceeding until she could control her indig- 
nation no longer, and accosting Mr. Lootie on deck, she remon- 
strated with him on his immoral and most ungentlemanly conduct. 
He replied, with a sneer, “ They were fools. He had as much 
right to take advantage of their folly as another. Some one would 
win their money if he did not. The people were hungry and dis- 
appointed ; they wanted amusement, and so did he, and he was not 
responsible to Mrs. Lyndsay, or any one else, for his conduct.’^ 

Flora appealed to his conscience. 

The man had no conscience. It had been hardened and rendered 
callous long years ago, in the furnace of the world ; and she turned 
from his coarse, unfeeling face with sentiments of aversion and dis- 
gust. 

She next tried to warn his simple victims against venturing their 
little all in an unequal contest with an artful, designing man. In 
both cases her good intentions were frustrated. The want of em- 
ployment, and the tedium of a long, dull voyage, protracted under 
very unfavorable circumstances, an insufficiency of food and water, 
the want of the latter in particular rendering them feverish and 
restless, made the emigrants eager for any diversion sufficiently ex- 
citing to rouse them from the listless apathy into which many of 
them were fast sinking. They preferred gambling, and losing their 
money, to the dullness of remaining inactive ; and the avarice of 
their opponent was too great to yield to a woman’s arguments. 
Mr. Lootie was a person who held dogs and women in contempt, 
and in return, be was hated and defied by the one, and shunned and 
disliked by the other ; the unerring instinct of the dog, and the 
refined sensibility of the woman, keenly disc) iminating the brutal 
character of the man. 


Fl..(.\TlA LYNDSAY. 


r.io 

Ih the ^sibiu, thf. I^yndsays fared very little better than the 
waigrants in the 'iteerage. Tea, sugar, and coffee were luxu- 
ries no longer to be thought of ; they just lasted the six weeks, and 
one morning, Sam. Fraser, with a rueful face, displayed the empty 
tea-pot, and conveyed the melancholy intelligence “ that they were 
out of everything fit for Christiana to eat or drink.” 

Can’t be helped, Sam,*’ said the Captain, shrugging his shoul- 
ders. “We may be thankful that things aren’t worse. There is 
still water in the hold.” 

“Not much of that either, sir. It’s just the color of tea, sir if 
it had but the flavor.” 

— ah! that terrible if. What a difference it made to all 
concerned in its introduction into that sentence — “ if ii had but the 
flavor !” The smell of the water, when it entered the labin, was 
bad enough to sicken the keenest appvtite ; it was sufficiently dis- 
gusting to make the strongest individual there Wi.*»h that ho had no 
nose, no taste, no recollection of a better and {.urer element, while 
drinking it. The water was dead, corrupt, stin.dng, and had been 
so for the last fortnight ; but it was all they Lad wuerew.’th to 
slake their thirst. 

The breakfast this morning was reduced to a smak plateful ezch 
of oatmeal porridge, made with the said rich watei, with porter or 
Edinburgh ale for sauce. 

A very little of this strong food satisfied Flora. The Captain 
and Lyndsay pronounced it “ not bad while poor James .Hawke 
ate it with the tears running down his cheeks into his plate, to the 
great amusement of Boreas, who told him, “ tnat he had discovered 
a sauce for stirabout, he never saw eaten before.” 

They had scarcely concluded their scanty meal, when Sam pre- 
sented the Captain with a dirty, three-cornered note, which he said. 
Mr. Lootie had ordered him to deliver instantly! 

“ What’s in the wind now ?” said the old sailor. “ I’m not a very 
good scribe, and the fellow writes such a cramped fist, that I can’t 
make it out. Do, Mrs. Lyndsay, oblige me by reading it.” 

The note was very brief, very insolent, and certainly to the point. 
The S which commenced the Sir that headed the missive had a 
most forbidding appearance. The loop was formed like the lash of 
m horsewhip, and reached half down the epistle ; thus — 

“ Sir — I demand the use of the tea-pot ! as part of our agree* 


320 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


ment. If this is longer denied, I shall look upon you as an infernal 
swindling old scoundrel ! ! !” 

James Lootie. 

“ August 16, 1832, brig Anne.” 

“ He be d d cried Boreas, in an ecstasy of rage. “ But 

that’s too good for him. Many an honest fellow meets with that 
fate, who would scorn to speak to such a low, mean, pitiful thief!” 

Don’t put yourself into such a passion. Captain,” said Lyridsay. 
“ The man does not deserve it ; it would gratify him to know that 
be could annoy you by his impertinence. Just send Sam up with 
the empty tea-pot, and your compliments, and tell him that the tea 
is all out, and he is quite welcome to the use of the pot for the rest 
of the voyage. 

“ Ha, ha 1” said the Captain, rubbing his hands ; that’s the 
way to exasperate him. Thank you, Mr. Lyndsay, for the sugges- 
tion. Go, Sam, and make the experiment.” 

In a few minutes Sam returned with a very rueful face, bolding 
his hand to his head, minus the tea-pot. 

“Well, what did the rascal say ?’^ 

“ He broke my head with the tea-pot ; and worse than that, sir, 
it will be of no further use to any one, for he pitched it into the 
sea, and wished us both in h .” 

“ Very civil, truly. And what did you say?” 

“ ITianked him for his good wishes, and hoped that we might 
have a pleasant voyage. You know, sir, I am deaf of one ear, and 
I pretended to misunderstand him, on purpose to anger him the 
more. But he let out, and swore loud enough to make the dead 
hear.’' 

“Were you born deaf, Sam ? or did you owe it to sickness or 
accident ?” said Flora. 

“ Why, ma’am, that’s rather a hard point to determine. It was 
a queer way in which I lost my hearing,” said honest Sam, with a 
grin ; “I’m sure it will make you laugh when I tell you how it hap- 
pened, but it is true for all that. My old grandmother, who brought 
me up (for my father and mother died when I was very young), was 
a pious woman, and very anxious that I should turn out a good 
boy. She made me attend the Sunday-school regularly, and beat 
me soundly if I dared to stay away unknown to her. We used to 
learn texts from the Scriptures, which were printed on small, thin 
pieces of pasteboard. One day, instead of learning ray text, which 


FLORA. LYNDSAY. 


821 


was very hard, and the weather was hot, and I felt particularly lazy, I 
put it into my ear, and pretended that I had lost it, when the teacher 
called me up to say my task. I don’t know how I contrived it, but 
I had thrust it in so far that I could not get it out ; and I was 
afraid to tell Granny what had happened. This brought on an 
inflammation in my ear, which nearly cost me my life. The doctor 
extracted the text, but I have been deaf o’ that ear ever since.” 

“ And the text?” demanded James Hawke. “ Was it — ‘ Those 
who have ears to hear, let them hear T ” 

“ I should rather think,” said Flora, “ it must have been — ‘ Like 
the deaf adder that stoppeth her ears, and refuseth to hear the 
voice of the charmer, let him charm never so wisely.’ ” 

“I don’t remember what it was,” replied Sam; “but T have 
been severely punished for my idleness and folly.” 

“ I think that you are all suffering for my folly just now,” said 
Boreas, “ when I consented to take that insolent reptile, Lootie, on 
board. I have no doubt that all our misfortunes are owing to 
him.” 

“ Don’t dignify him into a second Jonah, Captain.” 

“ Ah, how I should like to pitch the little wretch overboard I 
But hang me if there’s a shark or a whale in the great deep that 
would condescend to swallow such a tough, ill-favored, cross- 
grained, pitiful rascal !” 

Shortly after this colloquy in the cabin, the parties went on deck 

Mr. Lootie was, as usual, diverting himself with the steerage 
passengers. As the Captain passed the group of gamblers, the 
men left off their amusement, and scowled upon him, as if they 
considered him in the light of a common enemy ; while Lootie, 
quitting the game, strutted up to him with an air of insolent 
defiance. 

“ What’s the meaning of your conduct to me. Captain Williams, 
this morning ? Are you going to starve me, as you are starving 
the rest of the people? Why was not my tea sent to me as 
usual ?” 

“ Simply, because there is none ; and you must go without, like 
your neighbors,” said Boreas, making a strong effort to control 
his passion before the people. 

“ You are a liar and a cheat !” yelled the little brown man. “ I 
have paid for these things, and I will have them !” 

“ Shut up directly,” said Boreas, walking straight up to him, 

U* 


322 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ or I will have you put in iroiis as a runaway thief, and deliver 
you over to the proper authorities the moment we reach Quebec. 
You may thank your stars that you are here, and not in gaol.” 

The little man snarled, and drew back, without daring a reply. 
The emigrants exchanged glances. Some laughed, others shrugged 
their shoulders, while Stephen Corrie said, aloud — 

“ I told you, boys, while he was making mischief between you and 
the Captain, that he was nobody. Now I hope you’ll believe me.” 

“ He’s a mean chap,” muttered another ; “ he has cheated me 
out of all my money.” 

“ And me,” — “ and me,” chimed in several voices. “ If the Cap- 
tain gave him his deserts, he would pitch him overboard.” 

That’s what we’ll do, my hearties, and send him to look after my 
tea-pot, if he gives us any more of his jaw,” cried Boreas, as Lootie 
slunk away to take refuge in his boat. “ When you listen to such 
a fellow as that, you should be sure that he is your friend. He 
tries to make bad blood between us, to serve his own ends, and rob 
you of your little property. Now, mark me, lads. I’ll have no more 
of this gambling carried on in the ship, and I’ll make a public exam- 
ple of the first man that dares to disobey my orders.” 

“ Hurra, Captain !” cried Stephen ; “ its a pity you did not come 
to that determination a fortnight ago ; it would have saved several 
here from ruin.” 

“ Hold your tongue, Stephen Corrie ; it’s not for you to brag,” 
cried the Glasgow lad. “ You may well be more virtuous than the 
rest of us, when you have nothing to lose.” 

“ True for you, my boy,” returned Stephen, laughing, “ I only 
follow the way of the world ; and preach morality when I’m beyond 
the reach of temptation.” 

The next day happened to be Sunday. The calm continued ; but 
l^ie fog was not quite so dense, and the sun made several efforts to 
show his face, and dispel the haze. Flora was leaning over the side 
of the vessel, looking intently at some sea-weed fioating upon the 
glassy surface of the sea, when a large grampus flung himself quite 
out of the water, cut an absurd caper in the air, and having accom- 
plished a somerset, evidently to his own satisfaction, plunged ones 
more head foremost into the deep. 

“ Aye — Mistress Lyndsay ! what an awful length o’ a beast,” said 
a shrill voice at Flora’s elbow, and she looked down into the shriv* 
''iled-up lace of old Granny Williamson. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


323 


‘ Did ye ever see th^ like o’ that ?” 

“ It was very amusing,” said Flora. 

“ Hout, woman, it makes a’ my flesh creep — sure the deevil hag 
the fashioning o’ they fearsome things.” 

Before the old woman could communicate any more original 
remarks, the Captain came up, and told Mrs. Lyndsay that it was 
a capital day for fishing ; and thoughut was the Sabbath, he thought 
that as they were situated they should not lose an opportunity of 
trying to increase their scanty stock of provisions. 

Flora perfectly agreed with old Boreas, and he went among the 
people to see if any of them were provided with tackle. Only two 
fishing-hooks and lines could be discovered among the whole ship’s 
crew. One of these was the property of Mr. Wright, the second 
mate, and the two Muckleroys held a joint partnership in the 
other. 

The Captain baited the hooks with a piece of pork, and set Sober- 
sides to fish on one side of the vessel, while he tried his luck on the 
other, Flora standing by him, feeling the greatest interest in the 
success of the parties, who had made an agreement to divide equally 
among the passengers the fish it might be their good fortune to cap- 
ture. 

It has often been said “ that a watched pot takes long to boil 
and for a long time, the many eyes that looked down with eager 
expectancy on the water, looked and watched in vain. 

“ Confound the fish !” cried old Boreas, losing patience- why 
don’t they bite.” 

“ They might give you two reasons. Captain,” said Corrie, who 
was standing by — “ Either, they are not hungry, or have no appe- 
tite for salt pork.” 

“ In the latter case, I should consider them fish of taste,” said 
Lyndsay. 

“ I could give you a better reason,” said a hoarse voice near. 
All started, and turned their eyes upon the speaker. It was the 
preacher. “ It is because you are desecrating the Sabbath^ and 
breaking the commandments of God. How can you expect a 
blessing to follow such impious conduct. Captain Williams ? I am 
astonished at a man of your age setting such a terrible example 
to your passengers and crew.” 

“ Hold your gab !” cried Boreas, “ and stand out of the way, 
He who feeds the ravens when they call upon Him, has sent the 


m 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


hungry a blessing in the shape of a large ^sh. My eyes ! what a 
whopper ! Hurrah, my lads ! — ^here’s something to eat !” 

The great cod leaped and floundered upon the deck, flapping the 
women’s feet with its slimy tail, and coming rather unceremoniously 
in contact with the religious professor’s black pants. 

“ A fish ! a fish ! The Captain has caught a big fish !” cried all 
the children in chorus. The women clapped their hands — the 
hungry men laughed and shouted, and measured the length of their 
welcome stranger, calculating how much he weighed, and how 
many he would feed. 

“ He weighs just forty pounds, over or under,” said Boreas. 
“ I have been in the trade, and can judge within a few ounces.” 

There’s another at the hook. Captain,” cried Flora, who was 
holding the line. “ Pull it in — I am not able.” 

By Jove ! so there is. And hullo ! the shoe-makers will beat 
us, if we don’t take care — see, they are getting one in bigger than 
ours — a perfect buster! If it is sinful to take these creature 
comforts, we are very thankful to God for his mercy in sending 
them,” glancing with his one eye hard at the preacher. 

“ It is sin, great and heinous sin,” said that individual, in his 
sepulchral voice ; “ and I think it my duty to denounce such 
iniquity.” 

“ You are welcome to do so, if it afibrds you any amusement,” 
returned Boreas, hauling up another great fish upon the deck, and 
coolly rebaiting his hook ; “ but I would thank you to stand back 
and mind your own business.” 

“ It’s my duty, man of sin, to warn you of your danger, and tell 
these ill-advised people not to follow your evil example.” 

“ Tol-de-rol !” said Boreas, snapping his fingers, and casting his 
line overboard. “ Our blessed Lord, when He was hungry, gath- 
ered ears of corn and ate them, on the Sabbath day. I and my 
people are starving, and we fish to obtain food to preserve us and 
these little ones,” pointing to the children, “ alive. And now, sir, 
you have had your answer.” 

The preacher regarded him with a sullen scowl, and turned away ; 
but not without sundry threatenings of Divine vengeance, “ which 
he was certain,” he affirmed, “ would follow his wicked proceed- 
ings. And you, madam ” he continued, addressing himself to Flora, 
“ I am surprised to see you, who ought to know better, not only 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


325 


abetting this man in his iniquitous proceedings by your presence, 
but actually participating in his guilt !” 

“ If I thought he was acting wrong, Mr. S said Flora, 

‘‘ I should not be here. But I consider that he is engaged in a 
good work, which God has sanctioned, by giving us the food we 
sought.” 

“ A false and worldly conclusion, which will be followed by the 
same punishment that befel the rebellious Israelites in the wilder- 
ness, when they lusted for strange food.” 

“ The case is somewhat different. Their daily food, though dis- 
tasteful to them, was constantly supplied ; but some of these people 
have no food at all.” 

“ They deserve to starve, for their disobedience and want of 
faith !” 

“ When our stores are exhausted,” said Boreas, “ those who are 
well supplied must contribute their stock for the general benefit. 
We shall not starve alone.” 

“ How, sir 1 Do you expect the prudent to give up their sub 
stance to the idle and the improvident ?” 

This was said with much asperity of look and tone. 

“ Hunger knows no law — respects no property. In cases of 
general distress, men claim all things in common, and become Com- 
munists in downright earnest. While your locker contains a sin- 
gle buscuit, you will be called upon to share it with the rest.” 

Mr. S made no answer to this speech, and walked sullenly 

away. 

Before noon, the Captain and the Muckleroys had forty no- 
ble fish lying upon the deck. Thirty of these, the Captain had 
caught with his own hand. 

“ This is a fine sight,” he said. We have reason to thank God 
for this great mercy, in spite of all yon sour-faced, sulky fellow 
may say to the contrary. He may satisfy his stomach with beef 
and buscuit — not a morsel of this fresh fish shall rejoice the 
cockles of his heart.” 

Not so. Captain,” said Flora. ‘‘Let us test the sincerity of 
his profession by sending him one of these fish as his share of the 
spoil, and see whether his practice is equal to his professions of 
superior sanctity.” 

“ Faith, you are right ! But he will never be such a d U 

hypocrite as to accept it !” 


826 


FLOKA LYNDSAY. 


“ Try hijn,” 

“ What {jhall I bet that he will send it back, with a long vsermosi 
tacked to its tail ?” 

“ Don’t bet ; you would be sure to lose — that is, if I judge that 
man’s physiognomy rightly. There is nothing good or benevolent 
in his face ; and the face, after all, is the map of the mind.” 

“Well, I’ll send it, just to please you. Here, Sam Fraser I — 
take this fish to Mr. S , with my compliments.” 

Sam went, and returned with a comic smile on his face. 

“ Well, Sam, did he condescend to take the wages of our ini- 
quity ?” 

“ Aye, sir, and returns you his best thanks. He has given Heor 
die Muckleroy a shilling to clean the fish for him, though it is Sun- 
day. I think if you watch the stove, he will be cooking it himself 
before long.” 

“ The devil he will ! Mrs. Lyndsay, you are a witch. I could 
have taken my oath that he would not have touched it with a pair 
of tongs.” 

“ Captain, you know little of human nature.” 

“ But the fellow, is so religious.” 

“So fanatical, you should say. That man never felt the sweet 
influences of Christianity. He deals in words — ^not deeds. See, 
here he comes, with a piece of the fresh fish to broil for his dinner. 
Let us go down into the cabin ; the sight of us might chance to 
spoil his appetite.”* 


CHAPTER LII. 

THE STORM. 

For several days after the fishing adventure. Flora was confined 
to her berth with severe indisposition, and was, indeed, so alarm- 
ingly ill, that at one time she thought that she would be consigned 
to the deep, as food for fishes, on the great banks of Newfound- 
land. She loathed the bad water and food, and became so much 
reduced by sickness, that poor little Josey bad to be weaned. 

It was a great blessing that the young, tender creature, suffered 


♦ A fact. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


321 


/ittle from the privation. She ate her meals of biscuit softened in 
the putrid water, with an appetite that health and hunger alone 
can give, and looked as rosy and as happy upon the coarse diet pre- 
pared by the kind and attentive Sam Fraser, as if it had been com 
pounded of the finest white bread and new milk. 

“ Oh, what a blessing it is, my darling, that you continue so 
well !” said Flora, on the fourth morning after her baby’s natural 
sustenance had been withdrawn. “I thought this illness would 
have been the death of you.” 

“ Dinna distress yersel about the wean,” said Mrs. Muckleroy ; 
“ the gude God takes care o’ His ain. The wee cherub is as blithe 
as a lark. The pure, fresh air, is baith meat an’ drink to her.” 

Fortunately for Flora, the Captain had a consignment of old 
port on board, a couple of tablespoonfulls of which, mixed with a 
little oatmeal, twice a day, was all the nourishment, she was able to 
take ; but, in all probability, it was the means of saving her life, 
and preventing her from sinking from utter exhaustion. 

When once more able to leave her bed and crawl upon the deck, 
she looked the mere shadow of her former self. 

The women — with whom she was a great favorite — crowded 
round her to shake her by the hand, and offer their congratulations 
on her recovery. Their simple and affectionate expressions of 
regard and sympathy moved her very much. 

What depths of kindness there are in the human heart !” she 
thought. “ How little do we understand and appreciate the minds 
of these uneducated people, whom we are too apt to look down 
upon as our inferiors. How far they surpass the hacknied children 
of the world in their generous devotion to those they love. Unfet- 
tered by conventional selfishness, they dare to obey the natural in- 
stincts of their humanity — to act and think with simplicity and 
truth. We mistrust them, because we are unacquainted with their 
mode of life, and the motives which influence their general conduct. 
They look up to us, and have boundless faith in the superiority of 
our position and intelligence. When will a higher Christianity 
than that which at present rules the world break down the wall 
that pride and bigotry have raised between children descended from 
one parent stock, and bridge the gulf of poverty and ignorance 
that now separates them from each other ?” 

‘‘ The time is coming,” cries the philanthropic speculator ; but 


328 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


adds, with a sigh, “it will not be in our day; yet it will surely 
come.’^ 

Three weeks the ship had been becalmed upon the banks, the 
dull monotony of the dreary fog, only relieved by the ringing of a 
large bell and the blowing of horns, which was kept up at regular 
intervals during the day and night, in order to prevent the ship 
being run down by some larger vessel. 

At length the morning came which brought a fair wind to fill 
the sails of the Anne ; and her passengers looked up to the blue 
heavens and blessed the light of the sun. J oy and hope again 
beamed from every face. The little brown man’s morose aspect 
alone remained unchanged. 

The tall, lithe figure of Mr. Collins seemed to have grown two 
inches higher, as he paced the deck with elastic steps and head 
erect. '3’he little tailor was at his post among the clouds at the 
mast head, seeing visions of green fields, and singing like a lark ; 
Stephen Oorrie was in an ecstasy of mirth ; and Tam Grant could 
not cross the deck without cutting sundry mad capers which set all 
the rest laughing. 

The women crept from their hiding-place in the dark depths of the 
steerage, and sat smoking their black, short pipes, and chatting in 
lively tones to each other. Even Granny Williamson forgot to 
quarrel with her daughter, and mounted a clean mutch on the occa- 
sion ; the soldier Mackenzie, to scold his diminutive wdfe ; or Mis- 
tress Macdonald, to annoy the Captain with threats of maternity, 
and bully her husband. The Sultan of the deck— the dour Boreas 
himself — ^resigned for once his dignity, and condescended to laugh 
and chat, and draw agreeable presages of the future, from the fair 
wind and the smiling day. 

Flora felt tranquilly happy, as she sat on a camp-stool upon the 
deck, with J osey nestled in her arms, and old Oscar basking in the 
warm sun at her feet, rejoicing in the change that a few hours had 
made in their prospects. The very waves that followed in their 
wake, and curled around their prow, flashing in the sunlight, seemed 
to lift up their voices and utter a strain of joyful merriment, in hav- 
ing escaped the thrall of the dull, lethargic mist, that had so long 
held them in silence and inactivity. Yesterday, and not a breath 
of air stirred the leaden surface of the sea. No glance from tlie 
sun’s bright eye looked down upon them through the blinding, wil- 
dering white veil, suspended between them and heaven. The mist 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


329 


penetrated everywhere — it hid the sails, floated above the cold, 
damp, slippery deck, and entered the very cabin, chilling their hearts 
with apathy and gloom. 

Nature had suddenly started from her mesmeric trance, and was 
wide awake once more ; and all the human hearts imprisoned in 
the Anne responded to her electric touch. The very ship seemed 
endued with living power, and bounded over the long, rolling 
surges as if she felt the impetus of the fresh wind that filled her 
canvas in all hei* creaking timbers. 

This is glorious. Captain ! shall we soon clear the banks?” 

“We left them behind two hours ago.” 

“ Shall we see land before night ?” 

He shook his head. It’s not in the breeks of the Anne. She is 
old, and slow in her paces. With the same wind we shall be for- 
tunate if we do so to-morrow.” 

Flora went to bed, hoping and praying for the fair wind to con- 
tinue, and fill their sails on the morrow. 

The morrow came, and filled its appointed place in the long 
annals of time ; and still the ship held on her course, with the same 
blue skies above, and the same blue desert of ocean, limitless and 
vast, around. 

The nearer they approached the desired haven, the more contra- 
dictory and morose Mr. Lootie became. The hope which inspired 
all with a fiutter of joyful anticipation, seemed to awaken no feel- 
ings of gratitude and thankfulness in him. He grumbled and 
snarled at every one and every thing. 

At noon, a vessel hove in sight. It was the first that had 
crossed their long and lonely path ; * and as she drew near, every one 
rushed to the deck to look at the stranger. She passed so near, 
that there was but a narrow path of waves between them ; and her 
crew, in red flannel shirts and worsted caps, seemed as much swayed 
by the excitement of the moment, as the half-starved passengers on 
board the Anne. 

The Captain bellowed through his trumpet to inquire her name, 
port, and destination, as she glided by, and was answered, in the 
same trumpet tones — 

“ The barque Mary, of Hnidon, Captain Jones — freight, timber 
—ten days from Quebec — all well.” 

In a few minutes she was gone, soon to become a mere speck on 
the horizon. 


330 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Flora turned with a sigh from following her track along the 
deep. She was going home, and the very thought of that distant, 
never-to-be-forgotten home, flooded her heart with sad memories. ’ 

“ Don’t look so grave, Mrs. Lyndsay,” said old Boreas. “ In t(» 
days we may reach Quebec. I hear Sam ringing the bell for din- 
ner. I thought I would give you a little treat, and have ordered 
the cook to prepare for us a dog’s body.” 

A dog’s body ! — Captain, you could not be so cruel !” She 
glanced round the deck. Oscar was lying near her, his red eyes 
gleaming affectionately upon her through his tangled locks.* “You 
have not, surely, ordered the poor Northumbrian’s brindled slut tc 
be killed, to give us a taste of fresh meat?” 

“ Why not ?” said Boreas, with a grin. “ To be sure she is not 
in prime condition ; but those three fine pups of hers are as fat as 
batter. The Chinese eat dog, and why should not we ?” 

“ You are not in earnest?’^ 

“ Ask Sam.” 

Flora was perplexed. She saw a smile on Lyndsay’s face, and 
went to Oscar’s kennel to ascertain the fact. 

Now Oscar, who had three times saved the Captain’s life, rejoiced 
in a fine greenhouse, that stood near the companion-ladder, and was 
taken as much care of as any of the crew. The brindled slut had 
thought fit to appropriate this handsome berth to herself, in which 
she had, a fortnight before, brought forth three fine bull-dog pups 
that Flora had christened Triton, Boatswain, and Neptune. 

Oscar had manifested the utmost indignation at this appropria- 
tion of his property. He had tried to expel the female invader of 
his rights with the most awful threats of vengeance, in the shape of 
snarls, barks, and ferocious growls. But Madame Brindle had 
claimed the law of the strongest, and, without having consulted 
Blackstone on the subject, had found out that possession is nine 
parts of the law. 

For a whole day Oscar had endeavored to effect an ejectment ; 
but the brindled slut had very calmly looked out at the door and 
laughed at his impotent rage, to the no small amusement of Flora. 
Oscar at length abandoned the contest in disgust, and not only left 
Madame Brindle in possession, but disdained to go near his old 
domicile, in which his foe made herself quite at home, with her bot- 
tle-nosed family. 


FLORA LYNDSAV. 


331 


Flora peeped into the kennel, but Brindle had curled herself up 
for a comfortable nap, and did not choose to be disturbed. 

“ I am glad he has not killed you, poor beast,” said Flora ; “ but 
I don’t see the pups and, full of anxiety, she followed the Captain 
down to dinner. 

The laugh was now against her ; for the dog’s body turned out 
to be a pease pudding, of which she ate very heartily, while Boreas 
:ubbed his hands, and chuckled at the joke. 

To while away the tedium the voyage, she and Lyndsay would 
take it by turns to play draughts with the Captain. They always 
were the victors ; he did not mind being beat by Lyndsay, but his 
pride was deeply mortified, whenever Flora won the game. 

“ A man may beat a man,” he would grumble out, “ but. d 

it, I don’t like being thrashed by a woman. Mrs. Lyndsay, yon 
have no right to beat a sailor on his own deck, at checkers.’^ 

The Captain was by no means a bad-hearted man, but he had 
many odd peculiarities. One of these was his insisting on keeping 
his pipe in the large, flat-bottomed, greasy candlestick. This aft»?r- 
noon he missed it from its usual place. 

“ Sam !” he thundered, in his stentorian voice — “ Sam Fraser ! 
What the devil have you done with my pipe ?” 

“ It’s in the cupboard, sir,” said Sam, obsequiously. 

“ How dared you put it in the cupboard, when I had found out 
such a clean place for it ?” 

“Why, sir, — I thought, sir, the cupboard was the best place 
for it.” 

“You thought! Sir, you have no business to think, unless ± 
give you leave. If I had put it in the pitch-pot, you had no right 
to take it out, unordered by me !” 

Sam bowed with the gravity of a judge, handing him the black, 
greasy pipe with the deference due from a subject to his sovereign 
prince. 

The Captain had lost his eye in a storm, in which his ship (not 
the Anne) had suffered wreck. He had effected his escape through 
the cabin-window, and a splinter of the glass had pierced his eye 
and destroyed his sight. This was one of the occasions in which 
he had been saved by the faithful Oscar, who kept him above water 
until a boat picked him up. The splinter of glass was afterwards 
extracted by the surgeon of a man-of-war ; and Boreas kept it in a 


332 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


Bnuff-bo.t, which he always carried about his person, and lOoked 
upon it in the light of a charm. 

“ While I can keep this and Oscar,” he said, “ I shall never suiter 
from shipwreck again. 

It would have been a difficult matter for any one to have per- 
suaded him to part with the one or the other of these precious 
relics. 

A great many private letters had been entrusted to his care. 
This was against the law. Boreas aware of the fact, and took 
advantage of it. Every dull day — Sundays especially — he brought 
these letters from the depths of his huge sea-chest, and amused 
himself by spelling them over, until he must have learned their 
contents by heart. 

Lyndsay remonstrated with him on this dishonorable conduct. 

“ Hout, man !” he said, the writers of these letters cheated the 
Government in sending them by me. It just serves them right. I 
shall read them as often as I please. 

This fact should be a useful hint to persons who, for the sake of 
saving a trifling amount of postage, entrust letters of consequence 
to private hands. These letters never reached their destination. 
After having aflbrded entertainment to this rough seaman during 
the voyage, they were thrown overboard before the vessel arrived 
at Quebec. 

The next day the wind continued fair, but the weather was hazy, 
and sultry hot. The Captain promised the first man who should 
descry land, a dollar and a double allowance of grog. 

“I’ll bet upon the little tailor,” he cried, as he saw Sandy 
mounting with alacrity to his lofty perch. “ That fellow has a 
great soul, though he wears a small pair of breeks. There’s luck 
in his sharp face and keen eye.” 

J ames Hawke determined not to be outdone by the tailor, and 
took up an exalted position on the mast, while the rest of the 
passengers walked to and fro the deck, straining their eyes, and 
looking in all directions for the promised land. A bank of dull 
grey clouds obscured the distant horizon, and, for some time, they 
looked in vain. 

A warm, resinous smell came at times upon the wind, and large 
masses of sea-weed floated continually past. Flora was watching 
these with great interest, when the little brown man, who had kept 
quiet for some days, sauntered to her side. 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


333 


He was in a more contradictory mood than ever. 

“ A fine day, Mrs. Lyndsay.” 

“ Eather hazy. It looks like rain.” 

Quite the reverse. The sky is quite clear.” 

“ Independent of that fog-bank.” 

^'Fog/ I see no fog. You are blind, my dear Madam. The 
atmosphere is unusually clear.” 

Flora stared at him. Could the man be in his senses ?” 
Presently she remarked, “ that they must be near land, from the 
quantity of sea-weed floating upon the water.” 

“ That’s not sea- weed !” 

“ Mr. Lootie, I was born and brought up on the sea-coast — don’t 
you think I know sea-weed ?” 

“Not if you call pieces of reed and grass sea-weed. And as 
to being near land, that’s all fudge. The Captain only says so to 
please you.” 

Lyndsay, who was standing near, now took Flora’s arm, and 
walked to the other side of the deck. “What a little, contra- 
dictory, snarling creature it is,” he said. “ Why do you bandy 
words with him ? Look, here is a piece of twisted paper. I will 
go forward, and throw it overboard. It looks like nothing but 
what it is. You return to Lootie, and when it passes, say, ‘ there’s 
a piece of white paper,’ and just hear how he will contradict the 
fact.” 

Flora did as she was told. 

Presently the paper floated just beneath the spot where they 
were standing. 

“ Ah !” cries Flora, with feigned surprise, “ we must be near 
laud. See — there is a piece of white paper.” 

“ Pshaw ! Paper indeed ! where are your eyes ? It is a feather 
— a white feather, belonging to some sea-fowl or other.” 

“ A goow, perhaps, Mr. Lootie. But no, it is wha/. I say, a 
piece of paper.” 

“ A feather, Madam, a feather !” 

“ Why, there’s writing upon it, I see the letters.” 

“ Nonsense, it is feather, speckled with black and grey. PU 
Bwear it’s a. feather and his shrill voice rose almost to a scream. 

Lyndsay joined the disputants, hardly able to keep from laugh 
ing in the face of the angry little elf. 


334 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ Flora, did you see the piece of paper I flung overboard just 
now ? I thought it would set you wondering V* 

“Now Mr. Lootie, what do you say to your feather V* 

“ That I hate senseless jokes, and the fools who make them;’* 
snarled the ex-distiller, as he retired with a face as black as a thuB- 
der-cloud. 

About four in the afternoon, the clouds cleared away, the sun 
came out brilliantly, and the cry of “ Land 1 land, to the left !” was 
sung out lustily from the mast-head. 1 

The little tailor had won the promised reward, and it was not 
many minutes before he reached the deck to claim it. 

Land was indeed in sight, not exactly that which they looked for. 
The ship was considerably out of the usual track, and was rather 
too near for safety to the stern mountain peak of Cape Breton. 
The Captain calculated it to be about fourteen miles distant before 
sunset, and the dark outline of rock and forest was visible to the 
naked eye. 

It was a warm, delicious summer evening, and the smell of the 
pine forests, was as rich as the gales of Araby to the poor emi- 
grants. The Captain had treated all hands to a stiff glass of grog ; 
and the Duncans had tuned their fiddles, and young and old were 
assembled upon the deck for a dance. 

Flora was too much entranced with the sight of land, to heed 
the dancers as they bounded past, shouting and laughing in their 
mad revel of mirth. 

The moon had risen above the frowning Cape, and flooded the 
land and sea with light. The jollity of the passengers and crew 
profaned the calm grandeur of the night — the august and profound 
solitude of sea and sky. Gladly would she have shut out all such 
sights and sounds, to commune with her own heart, with natue, and 
with nature’s God, while gazing upon such a scene, at such an hour. 
But “ fast and furious grew the fun,” and a cry from her babe whom 
she had left sleeping in her little cabin, faint as it was, reached her 
maternal ear ; and she left the revellers, to attend to the wants of 
her child. 

Josey was fretful and restless, and more than an hour elapsed 
before she could hush her again to sleep. She was still lying be- 
side her on her berth, with the little creature’s arms clasped tightly 
about her neck, when the ship seemed to reel and lurch, as if sud- 
denly struck by a tremendous blow. Then came shouts and cries — > 


FLORA LYNDSAY 


835 


the trampling of feet, the creaking of ropes and chains- -and still 
the ship plunged and tossed, with such a violent motion, that she 
had to hold to the berth to keep her feet. What could it all mean ? 
was she in a dream ? Everything was bright and beautiful above, 
when she quitted the deck. W'hence then came the confusion ot 
sounds — the hoarse roaring of winds — the dashing of waves — the 
fearful tossing to and fro of her ocean home ? Flora gently un- 
clasped the clinging arms of her sleeping babe, and groping her 
way through the dark cabin, with great difficulty succeeded in 
climbing the companion ladder, and bringing her head on a level 
with the deck. 

She did not venture higher. She saw enough to convince hei 
that woman had no place amid the horrors of such an awful scene. 
A sudden squall from the mountains had struck the ship. The 
moon had withdrawn* her light ; vast masses of clouds covered the 
sky, before so clear and brilliant. Yast sheets of foam enveloped 
the vessel, and huge billows thundered upon her deck. Not a stitch 
of canvas was to be seen ; some of the sails had been rent from the 
mast by the gale ; the rest were close furled. Lyndsay and four 
other men were at the rudder, to keep the ship in her course. The 
roaring of the winds and waves was deafening. Flora's heart beat 
violently for a moment, then grew calm before the grandeur of the 
scene. 

“ AVe are in the hands of God," she thought ; “ in life and death 
we are His. Submission to His will is the sublimity of faith.” 

In the cabin everything was loose. Trunks rolled from side to 
side. The mate had removed the light, and utter darkness pre- 
vailed. It was a long time before she could regain her little domi. 
cile — the ship pitched with such violence, that every step brought 
her to her knees ; at length she found the door, and lifting the mat- 
trass from her berth, into which she found it impossible to climb, 
she took her baby in her arms, and lay down upon the heaving floor, 
commending herself and her fellow-passengers to the care of God. 

To sleep was impossible ; but her mind seemed sustained by a 
lofty courage that made her feel calm in the midst of danger. This 
strength was not her own ; it was derived from a higher source — 
a firm reliance on the unerring wisdom and providence of God. I 
death was His decree, she would try to meet it wi th becoming for- 
titude. Resistance and lamentations were alike useless ; eve^ 
prayers for self-preservation appeared impious. She was in Hi^ 


336 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


keeping, and she felt confident that whatever might befall her and 
those so dear to her, was for the best. 

The hurricane roared through the long, starless night. Floods 
of rain forced their way through the skylight, and drenched hei 
bed. She buried her head in the wet blankets, and shivered with 
cofd. Yet Josey slept as peacefully as ever on her mother’s breast, 
happily unconscious of the terrors of the hour. 

About four o’clock in the morning, Lyndsay opened the door of 
lier little cabin. The water was streaming from his garments. 

“ Flora, are you awake ?” 

“Yes, darling,” she cried, starting to a sitting posture ; “ who 
could sleep in such a storm ?” 

“ It has been a dreadful night. The danger is over. The ship 
is no longer on the lee shore, but standing out to sea. At one 
time we expected that she would run upon the rocks and go down. 
The gale still continues, but we have plenty of sea-room. I have 
been hard at work all night. The men behaved like trumps, — 
especially old Macdonald and the Dragoon. I am going to change 
these wet clothes, and lie down for an hour. So content yourself, 
my Flora. Thank God for our deliverance, and go to sleep. 

Flora had silently done that already. In a few minutes she was 
slumbering as peacefully as J osey — dreaming of green fields, and 
running brooks, and wandering with dear familiar faces, among 
nature’s quiet haunts, in the memory-haunting eternity of the past. 


CHAPTEE LIII. 

THE SHIP COMES TO ANCHOR, AND THE BOOK TO A CLOSE. 

The next morning. Flora hastened upon deck ; but the wind was 
still so high, and the waves so rough, that, while there, she could 
not stand without holding to the ropes. The sea was covered with 
foam, the heavens with flying rack, which rolled in huge broken 
masses round and round the horizon. The land was no longer in 
sight, and old Ocean rolled and tossed in his unrest, as a strong 
man raves and tosses in the delirium of fever. 

“ The white mice are out this morning, Mrs. Lyndsay, said Bob 
Motion, who was at his old post at the helm. “ Miss Josey’s 
cradle, I’m thinking, was well rocked last night. We are now ruiv- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


337 


ning nght afore the gale. The skipper was out of his reckoniug al- 
together. It’s a mercy the ship did not founder on that cursed 
shore.” 

At noon the storm abated, with a fair wind. 

“ If this lasts, we shall have a glorious run,” said Mr. Collins, 
laying down his knife and fork at dinner, ‘‘ and shall most likely get 
clear of Anticosti before morning.” 

They passed this dangerous island during the night. 

“ I am sorry,” said Flora, “ that we did not see it.” 

“You should rather thank God, Mrs. Lyndsay. But don’t be 
too sure — we may see too much of it yet.” 

The Captain’s words were prophetic. Three days of stormy 
weather and contrary winds found the vessel tossing between Ch,v 
lour Bay and the dismal coast, whose dreary aspect sailors view 
with such fear. The setting sun shone upon the white, rocky dills 
of Cape Gaspe, and the fantastic rocks that surround that romantic 
bay ; and his rising beams gleamed upon the sandy beach and deso- 
late shores of Anticosti, with its grey forests of storm-stunted trees 
of horrid growth, that looked the fitting abode of the savage bear 
and wolf. 

In Chaleur Bay they caught some fresh fish, which was indeed a 
seasonable mercy, as it had become painfully evident that their 
stock of provisions could not hold out many days longer. 

On the 25th of August, they took in a pilot, off Cape Rosier, who 
brought some fresh provisions in his boat, and the fearful intelli- 
gence that the cholera was raging in Quebec, and spreading into 
the Upper Province. 

This piece of information threw a damp upon the spirits of all. 
They had escaped the dangers of the sea, only to encounter the 
more terrible peril of the pestilence. “ What must be, must — we 
all know that,” said Boreas. “No man that knows me would call 
me a coward ; but I’ll confess the truth — I’m afraid of this infernal 
cholera • I’ll be d d if I aren’t.” 

Every one had some prophetic fear or foreboding on the subject. 
Persons who had not trembled during the storm, turned pale and 
shuddered when the pestilence was named. 

Geordie Muckleroy alone seemed perfectly indifferent about it. 
“ That man’s sic a muckle sumph, he’s no afeard o’ onything 
said Mrs. Mackenzie, the dragoon’s little drunken wife. “ The 
night o’ the storm he must put his heid above the gangway to spier 

15 


338 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


about it ; and sic a gloiir as he gied at the sea, I’se never forget to 
my deein’ day. ‘ Wha’s a’ this muckle din ?’ quo’ he. ‘ Why 
man, we are a’ like to be drown’d in the salt brine. It’s an awfu 
storm,’ said my husband — ‘ Come up, an’ lend a hau’ wi’ the ropes.’ 

‘ The deil may tak’ the ropes for what I care,’ quo’ he ; ‘I’ll no 
fash mysel’ about ropes, or ony thin’ else, the night. I’ll jest gang 
awa’ comfortably to my ain bed, an’ tak’ it easy.’ An’ to bed he 
went, sure enough, though his puir wife was tearing her hair, an’ 
skirlin’ for fear the hale night.’ 

The pilot, among the stores he brought on board, had nothing so 
tempting to Flora as a box of raisins, which Lyndsay purchased 
for her, and which was opened for the benefit of all in the cabin. 

“ You had better put those things out of sight ; they’ll give you 
the cholera,” said Boreas ; “ they wouldn’t be so bad in a pudding,” 
he continued, musingly — “ Suppose you give some of them to Han- 
nibal, to make into a plum-pudding. There is some flour left ; it’s 
a little musty — but hungry dogs — you know the rest.” 

Flora piqued herself on making a good plum-pudding ; she vol- 
unteered to prepare it for the cook, and Sam Frazer provided her 
with flour, water, and a board and pudding bag. 

“ I want eggs, Sam.” 

“ Eggs, ma’am ? — no eggs to be had.” 

“ Milk.” 

“ The cow arn’t calved that’s to pervide that.” 

“ Well, get me some suet.” 

“ None in the ship. Only a little ransid butter.” 

“ I’ake away the flour and the board. The idea of making a 
plum-pudding out of putrid water, musty flour, and raisins, is too 
ridiculous.” 

“ Grive me some of the raisins,” said Sam, “ and Hannibal will 
make a sea plum-pudding.” 

“ I wonder what it will be like !” and Flora laughed, as she gave 
him as many raisins as he required. 

It was amusing to watch the Captain at dinner, playing the petty 
tyrant over the poor French pilot, on whose plate he cliucked the 
outside slice of the hard, tough beef, as if he had been throwing a 
bone to a dog. The pilot showed his white teeth., and his dark 
eyes blazed as he flashed them full in the Captain’s face, and throw 
ing the meat back into the dish, he strode from the table. 

Brother,” said Collins — a name he seldom applied to the Cap- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


339 


tain, and only when he wished to impress him particularly on any 
important subject— “ you had better try anither tack wi’ the pilot. 
I’liat won’t do. He’s a proud, high-spirited fellow ; he’ll no stand 
ony nonsense.” 

“ He may sit it, then. I’ll treat him as I please.” 

‘‘ Then he’ll leave you to navigate the St. Lawrence alone.” 

’fhe Captain shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing. 

' Let me ca’ him back to the table, and apologize.” 

‘ Call him back if you like ; but d the apology !” 

“ I’ll mak’ it straight,” cried Collins, and, leaving the cabin, he 
soon returned with the Frenchman, followed by Sam and the sea- 
pudding, who, placing it before the Captain with a most impressive 
air, looked triumphantly across the table to Mrs. Lyndsay. 

“ A nice piece of duff that, Sam,” said Boreas, striking his knife 
and fork into the fair sides of the jolly white pudding.” 

“ Wery nice, sir,” responded Sam. 

“ This your manufacturing, Mrs. L. ?” 

Flora shook her head. — “ I was not going to disgrace the national 
dish by compounding it of such materials.” 

“You have been stingy of the plums, Sam. They are scarcely 
within hail of each other.” 

“ He should have told the cook to whistle while he was picking 
them,” said Flora, laughing. “ I gave out plenty for a large, rich 
pudding.” 

“ I’ll help the youngsters first,” said Boreas, handing a large 
slice to James Hawke ; “ boys love duff.” 

The first mouthful was enough for poor Jim. He made a horrid 
face, and pushed back his plate. 

“ Hey ! what’s the matter with the lad ?” 

“ Oh, it’s so nasty,” said Jim, hurrying from the table. “ I shall 
never be able to eat plum-pudding again.” 

The pudding looked so clean and nice, that Flora was tempted 
to taste it. She no longer wondered at the boy’s disgust. It was 
made with rancid fat, bad water, and boiled in the sea-brine. To 
a stomach unaccustomed to such dainties, it was unpalatable in the 
highest degree. Yet the Captain, Mate, and Pilot ate of it, and 
pronounced it excellent. 

“ I knew how it would be,” said Flora, “and yet I am baby 
enough to be disappointed at the result ’ 




FLORA LYNDSAY. 


“ The child has quarrelled with its pudding,” said Boreas, ‘‘ and 
left more for us. It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good.” 

“ Pray don’t call it my pudding, Captain. I disown it altogether. 
There is nothing English about it.” 

Hannah, who had recovered her health and usefulness in a mi- 
raculous manner, since her master’s quarrel with the Captain, at 
any rate showed an English appetite while discussing the execrable 
mess. Flora, who was really hungry, and longing tor wholesome 
food, envied her the zest with which she demolished slice after slice, 
and still kept sending up her plate for more. 

That night they were given an awful specimen of a Canadian 
thunder-storm. The atmosphere was literally a-blaze with the 
lightning, while Heaven’s dread artillery burst continuously over- 
head, the long mountain-chain, on the north side of the river, hurl- 
ing it back from all its rocky caverns, in one deep, unbroken round. 

It was a night of awful and terrific beauty. Flora had never 
beheld its parallel in the old country — had never seen such electric 
flashes of blinding light, nor heard such ear-splitting peals of 
thunder. For the first time their dangerous freight flashed upon 
her mind — she remembered the gun-powder, and clung closer to the 
arm of her husband. 

See how the lightning plays upon the iron rings and bolts that 
fasten the sails to the mast I What if it should strike the ship, 
dear John ?” 

“ Don’t anticipate evil. Flora. There may be danger ; but as 
we can neither escape from it nor avert it, if it comes, it is better 
not to dwell upon it.” 

“ It would be a bad job for us a’,” said Mr. Collins ; ‘‘ but if it 
sud’ happen, we should be blown to pieces with the ship an’ ken 
nothing about it. I canna’ imagine an easier death.” 

“ The very suddenness of it makes it appear to me so dreadful,’' 
said Flora. It is not pleasant to know that you are standing 
over a volcano — ^that one spark might ignite, and scatter you in 
fragments into the air and waters. Are these storms common in 
Canada ?” 

I dinna ken,” returned Collins ; this is my first voyage.’ 

“ They are of frequent occurrence, Mrs. Lyndsay,” said Mr. 
Wright, who happened to be passing, “ and are often accompanied 
with dreafiil hurricanes, that sweep down everything that obstructs 


l'Lv.!RA LYNDSAY. 


34 ] 


thur course. The awful fire at Miramichi, which took place a few 
years ago, and which burnt up half the forests in the country, was 
supposed to have been kindled by lightning. I happened to be 
there at the time ; and though staying in a cleared part of the 
country with a relation of my wife’s, the appearance that the fire 
made was so terrible, that it often haunts me in dreams.” 

The cabin was so close, and the lightning so vivid, that Flora, 
in spite of the rain, preferred walking the deck until the storm 
subsided, which it did before daybreak, when she retired to bed, 

“A.nd sleep protracted came with double power.” 

The next day brought both the beautiful shores of the St. Law- 
rence in sight, and Flora remained chained to her post on the deck 
from morning until night, her eyes never weary of dwelling upon 
the glorious river, its romantic islands, and magnificent banks. 

What a noble panorama the St. Lawrence would make — ^to fol- 
low all the windings of this matchless stream from Grosselsle, 
through its chain of inland seas. Perhaps no country in the world 
could present finer subjects for such a work, with water so pure — 
skies so blue — ^rock, mountain, and forest so vast — ^and cities, 
towns, and villages along its shores placed in such picturesque and 
imposing situations. A pictorial' map of Canada could alone give 
a just idea of the beauty and importance of this great country to 
the good folks at home. Then consider the adjuncts of such a 
landscape — the falls of Montmorency, and God’s masterpiece, 
Niagara. The panorama of the Upper and Lower Mississippi 
would lose half its beauty, when contrasted with the panorama 
of the St. Lawrence, with its tumultuous rapids and thousand 
isles. 

An old friend of Mrs. Lyndsay, who had visited almost every 
country, had assured her that nothing he had ever seen during his 
travels through the world surpassed in grandeur and beauty the 
shores of the St. Lawrence — Rio J aneiro alone excepted — and so 
well had he described every remarkable scene on their passage up 
the river, that Flora instantly recognized each spot from the vivid 
pictures he had given her of them from memory. 

How she longed to land upon the lovely islands that continually 
glided past them ! Some of these were partly cultivated, and neat, 
white farm-houses peeped out from the midst of orchards glowing 
with ripe fruits, and the first gorgeous tints of the Canadian fall. 


342 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


On the south shores of the river, the wheat was still standing in 
th,e sheaf upon the yellow uplands, and the changing forest and 
the harvest incessantly blending their rich hues into a splendid 
harmony of the bright and beautiful. As if to atone for the long, 
cold winter, (and yet how charming that winter is)! Nature puts 
on royal robes to cover her decay ; and autumn, which in other 
countries is so melancholy and sober, in her russet dress, is, in Can- 
ada, the most attractive and delightful season of the year. Who 
does not prefer it to the warm, humid, leafless spring? — the 
blazing sun, cloudless skies, and enervating heat of summer ? — or 
to the cold, bright-blue and silver sheen of the spoiless winter ? 

On the 29th of August they passed Crane Island, the beautiful 
domain of Mr. Macpherson, on the north side of the river, and 
early on the morning of the 30th, the Anne cast her anchor oppo- 
site Grosse He. 

And here we shall leave our emigrants, in the bustle, confusion 
and excitement of preparing to go on shore, having described the 
voyage from thence to Quebec, and up the St. Lawrence else- 
where. A repetition of the same class of incidents and adventures 
could not fail of becoming tedious to our readers. 

If any of them should feel interested in the fate of the Lyndsay’s, 
we will briefly add, by way of postcript, all we know concerning 
them : 

The Lyndsay’s settled upon wild land, and suffered, for some 
years, great hardships in the backwoods. Ultimately, Mr. Lyndsay 
obtained an official appointment which enabled him to remove his 
wife and family to one of the fast-rising and flourishing towns of 
the Upper Province, where they have since resided in great hap- 
piness and comfort, and no longer regret their voyage to Can- 
ada, but bless the kind Providence that led them hither. 

As an illustration of that protecting and merciful interposition, 
so often manifested by the Great Father to his dependent children, 
we must here add, that the two disastrous trips to sea related in the 
former part of these volumes, by preventing the Lyndsays from tak- 
ing passage to Canada in the Chieftain, in all probability were 
the means of preserving them from falling victims to the cholera, 
as all the passengers in that unfortunate vessel perished with the 
fatal epidemic. 

The Flora, the ship to which her namesake felt such an unconquer- 


FLORA LYNDSAY. 


343 


:i^le objecti.\D, was wrecked upon the banks of Newfoundland, after 
iiaving been twelve weeks at sea. The Captain was made a 
prisoner, and confined during a greater part of the voyage to his 
cabin, by his brutal sons, while many of her passengers died of 
small-pox and want of food. 

How kind, then, was the Providence that watched over our 
poor emigrants ; althv ugh, like the rest of the world, they were 
tempted to murmur at the provoking delay, nor could discover the 
beam in the dark cloud, until the danger was past, and they had 
leisure to reflect upon the great peril they had escaped, and the 
mercies they had received from the Almighty Disposer of all 
'.uman destinies. For those who doubt the agency of an over- 
ruling Providence in the ordinary affairs of life, these trifling 
reminiscences have been chiefly penned. From trifling circum- 
stances, the gi’eatest events often spring. 

Musa, King of Hrenada, owed his elevation to the throne to a 
delay of five minutes : when he requested the executioner, whom 
his jealous brother had sent to the prison to take his head, to allow 
him that brief space, until he had check-mated the gaoler, with 
whom he was playing a game at chess, the grim official reluctantly 
consented. Before the time expired, a tumult in the city dethroned 
his brother, and gave Musa his crown. How much he owed to 
that one move at chess ! Could that be merely accidental, on 
which the fate of a nation, and the lives of thousands were staked ? 

•So with the Lyndsays. The storm — the fog — ^the lost passage 
m the Chieftain — ^the presentiment against sailing in the Flora 
though apparently very trifling circumstances, formed most impor» 
tant links in their destiny. Reader, have faith in Providence. A 
good father is never indifferent to the welfare of his children — 
atill less a merciful God. 


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marks the women of our households when they undertake to make their 
homes bright and cheery. Nothing deters them. Their weary work may 
be as long as the word which begins this paragraph, but they prove their 
regard for decent homes by their indefatigability. What a pity that any 
of them should add to their toil by neglecting to use Sapolio. It reduces 
the labor of cleaning and scouring at least one-half. 10c. a cake. Sold by 
all grocers. 





Dr. a. W. Thompson, Northampton, Mass., says: “I have tested the 
Gluten Suppositories, and consider them valuable, as indeed, I expected 
from the excellence of their theory.’’ 

Dr. Wm. Tot> Helmuth declares the Gluten Suppositories to be “the 
oest remedy for constipation which I have ever prescribed.” 

“As Sancho Panza said of sleep, so say I of your Gluten Suppositories : 
God bless the man who invented them!” — E. L. Ripley, Burlington, Vt. 

“ I prescribe the Gluten Suppositories almost daily in my practice and 
am often astonished at the permanent results obtained.” — J. Montfort 
Schley, M.D., Professor Physical Diagnosis Woman’s Medical College, 
New York City. 

HEALTH FOOD CO., 75 4th Avenue, N. Y. 


THE 

WASHING 

CVKR INVENTED, 
INo Lady, married or 
‘Single, Rick or Roor, 
Housekeeping or 
Hoarding, will l>e 
witliont it after test* 
ing its utility. 

^old ky all drst-class 
Orocers,l>nt kewareotf 
w^ortliless imitations. 









COTT’S 

TS AN 

Corsets, $1.00, SI. 50, S2.00, $3.00. Belts, $3.00. Nursing Corset. 
Price, $1.50. Abdominal Corset, Price, $3.00. 

^lereuteen thousand families in tlie City of New York alone are now wearing 
them daily. Every Man and Women, well or ill, should daily 
wear either the Corset or Belt. 

OUR CORSETS ARE DOUBLE STITCHED AHD WILL NOT RIP. 

If you have any pain, ache, or ill-feeling from any cause, if you seem “ pretty well,” yet lad; | 
energy and do not “feel up to the mark,” if j’ou suffer from disease, we beg you to at once try these 
remarkable curatives. They cannot and do not injure like medicine. Always doing good, nevol 
harm. There is no shock or sensation felt in wearing them. Every mail brings tts testimonials\ 
like the folloiuing : 

We guarantee safe delivery into 
your hands. Remit in Post-Office 
Monej'-order, Draft, Check, or in Cur- 
rency by Registered Letter at our 
risk. In ordering kindly mention 
Lovell's Library, and state exact 
size of corset usually worn. Make 
^ all remittances payable to GEO. 
A. SCOTT, 64-.> Broadway, 
New York. 

N. B. — Each article is 
V stamped with the English 

w coat-of-arms, and the 

name of the Proprie- 
> tors, THE PALL 

VX mall elect - 

R I C ASSOCIA- 
TION. 


THE Celebrated Dr. W. A. 
Hammond, of New York, formerly 
Surgeon-General of the U. S. Army, 
lately lectured upon this subject, and 
advised all medical men to make 
trial of these agencies, describing at 
the same time most remarkable 
cures he had made, even in cases 
which would seem hopeless. 

The Corsets do not differ 
in appearance from those 
usually worn. They are 
elegant in shape and 
finish, made after the 
best French pattern, 
and warranted satisfac- 
tory in every respect. 

Our Belts for both gents 
and ladies are the ^ren- 
uine Dr. Scott’s and are 
reliable. 

The prices are as 
fdlows: $1, $1..50, $2 
and -iio for the Cor- 
sets, and each 
for the Belts. The 
accompanying cut 
represents our No. 

2. or .$1.50 Corset. 

We have also a 
beautiful French shap- 
ed Sateen Corset at $o, 
also a fine Sateen Abdom- 
inal Corset at $3, and a short 
Sateen Corset at <$2. The $1 
and $1.50 goods are made of 
fine Jean, elegant in shape, 
strong and durable. Nur- 
sing Corsets, $1.50; Miss- 
es, 15c. All are double 
stitch’ed. Gents’ and 
La lies’ Belts, $3 each ; 

Ladies’ Abdominal 
Supporter, an invalu- 
able article, $12. They 
are sent out in a hand- 
some box, accompanied by a 
silver-plated compass by which 
the Electro- Magnetic influence 
can be tested. If you cannot 
find them in your dry goods 
store, remit to us direct. We 
will send either kind to any 
address, post-paid, on receipt 
of price, with 2o cents added 
for packing and postage. 



Hollis Centre, Me. 

I suffered severely from back 
trouble for years and found «o 
relief till I wore Dr. Scott’s Elec- 
tric Corsets. They cured me, 
and I would not be without 
them. Mrs. H . D. BENSON. 


Chambersburg, Pa. 

I found Dr. Scott’s Electric Cor- 
sets possessed miraculous power 
in stimulating and invigorating my 
enfeebled body, and the Hair 
Brush had a magic effect on my 
scalp. Mrs. T. E. Snyder, 
Fancy Goods Dealer. 


Memphis, Tennessee. 
Dr. Scott’s Electric Corsets 
have given me much relief. I 
suffered four years with breast 
trouble, without finding any 
benefit from other remedies. 
They are invaluable. 

Mrs. Jas. Campbell. 

De Witt, N. Y, 

I have an invalid sis- 
ter who had not been 
dressed for a year. 
She has worn Dr., 
Scott’s Electrii 
Corsets for two' 
weeks, and is now 
able to be dressed 
and sit up most ot 
the time. 

MELVA J. Doe. 


Newark, N. Y. 

Dr. Scott’s Electric Corsets 
have entirely cured me of mus- 
cular rheumatism, and also ot 
severe c.ase of headache. 

MRS. L. c. Spencer. 




Dr. Scott’s Electric Hair Brushes, $1.00, $1.50, $2.00, $2.50, $0.00; Flesh 
Brushes, $3.00 ; Dr. Scott’s Electric Tooth Brushes, 50 cents ; Insoles 
50 cents; CHEST PROCTECTOR, $3.00; ELECTRIC HAIR 
CURLER, 50 cents; LUNG AND NERVE INVIGORA- 
TORS, $#>00 and $10.00. 

S^A Good Live Canvassini? Agent WANTED in 
TOur town for these splendidly adveiTised and 
LIBERAL PAY, QUICK SALES. Satisfac- 
GEO. A. SCOTT, 842 Broadway, N. Y. 


A GRBT SUCCESS 

best selling goods in the market, 
i^ii guaranteed. Apply at once. 



The treatment of many thousands of 
cases of those chronic weaknesses and 
distressing ailments peculiar to females, 
at the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical In- 
stitute, Buffalo, N. Y., has affor'ded-a 
vast experience in nicely adapting and 
thoroughly testing remedies for tho 
ci^e of woman’s peculiar maladies. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrii^- 
tioii is the outgrowth, or result, of this 
great and valuable experience. Thou- 
^nds of testimonials received from pa- 
tients and from physicians who liavo 
tested it in the more aggravated and 
obstinate cases which had baffled their 
skill, prove it to be the most wonderful 
remedy ever devised for the relief and 
cure of suffering women. It is not re- 
commended as a “cure-all,” but as a 
most perfect Specilio for v/oman’s 
peculiar ailments. 

As a powerful, invigorating 
tonic it imparts strength to the v/holo 
system, and to tho uterus, or womb and 
Its appendages, in particular. For over- 
worked, “worn-out,” “run-down,”' de- 
bilitated teachers, milliners, dressmak- 
ers, seamstresses, “shop-girls,” house- 
keepers, nursing mothers, and feeble 
, women generally. Hr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription is tho greatest earthly boon, 
being unequalled as an appetizing cor- 
dial and restorative tonic. It promotes 
digestion and assimilation of food, cures 
-nausea, weakness of stomach, indiges- 
- tion, bloating and eructations of gas. 
j As a sop tiling and strengtlien- 
ing nervine, “ Favorite Prescription ” 
^ unequalled and is invaluable in allay- 
ing and subduing nervous excitability, 
[mritability, exhaustion, prostration, hys- 
juBria, spasms and other distressing, nerv- 
^ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of tho 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
(relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
iency. 

||_Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
mou IS a legitimate medicine, 

'paref ully compounded by an experienc- 
^ and skillful physician, and adapted 
_ woman s delicate organization. It is 

»ur©iy vegetable iu its composition and 


perfectly harmless In its effects in nrr 
condition of the system. 

‘‘Favorite Prescription” is n 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate cases of ieucorrhea, 
or ‘ whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural Suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, weak brek, “female weak- 
ness,” anteversion, ref reversion, bearinr' 
down sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the womb, 
inflammation, pain and tenderpess in 
oniries, accompanied with internal heat 
“ Favorite Prescrip- 
tion 18 a mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of r3tomach and other 
distressing symptoraj common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so p^pares 
the system for delivery as to g^k'atlv 
lessen, and many times almost erlirelV 
do away with tho, suiferings of that 'try- 
ing ordeal. 

‘‘Favorite Prescription,” wiieir 
taken m connection with the usO*of 
l)r. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovefy, 
and small laxative doses of Dr. Pierce’s 
;Pni?gativo Pellets (Little Liver Pills) 

, cures Biycr, Kidney and Bladdef dig.' 
eases. Thcir combined use also removes 
bJ<md' tainfs,^ and abolishes cancerous 
aiffl scrofulous humors from the sj^stem. 

jjg ^ ^^roiig Disease. — 

Many times women call on their family 
physicians, suffering, as they imagine, 
one from dyspepsia, another from heart 
disease, another from liver or kidney 
disease, another from nervous exliaus- 
tiou or prostration, another with pain 
hero or there, and in this way they all 
present alike to themselves and their 
easy-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseases, 
lor T/iiicn ho prescribes his pills and 
potions, assuming them to be such 
when, in reality, they are all only simp* 
pnsed hy some womb disorder, 
lim physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
large bills aro made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, but probably worse 
by reason of the delay, wrong treatment 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. Pierce’s FayorKc 
Prescription, directed to the cause would 
havm entirely removed the disease, there- 
by dispelling all those distressing sj^mp- 
tonis, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

“Favorite Prescription” is -the 
only medicine for .'women sold, by drue-- 
gists, imdcr a positive guarantee, 
irom the manufacturers, that it vdlJ 
give satisfaction in every case, or money 
will be refunded. This guarantee has 
the bottle-wrapper, and 
faithtullv cnrr.ed out for many years. 
I^arge bottles aOO doses) or 

SIX bottles for $5.00. ^ 

Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce s large, illustrated Treatise (160 
pages) on Diseases of Women.' Address, 
World’s Dispensary Medical Association,* 

JMU BUFFALO^ A T 






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